Heirs' Revolt
by Shade's Ninde
Summary: Sent to lead the invasion of Reginia with his betrothed, Artemis of the Shadowlands, Prince Kaldur'ahm of Raya is determined to carry out his father's wishes and prove himself a worthy successor, but a mysterious foe, some unforeseen setbacks and a changing political landscape may force him to reevaluate the role he plays in those plans. Medieval AU. Cowritten with RocksCanFly.


**HEIRS' REVOLT**

* * *

_Part One: Fealty_

* * *

King David of Raya surveyed his war room over folded hands, mouth pressed into a firm line of concentration. From his slightly raised dais, he could easily observe the entirety of the dark room. The large oaken table in front of him was taken up by a large map depicting the various kingdoms of the continent, with his own appropriately centered. His most trusted generals and advisers surrounded said map, trading barbs and debates over tactics and strategies while they waited for him to call the room to order.

To his immediate left sat the envoy from the Savage Lands, Lawrence of Crock, a baron in King Savage's court. David had no fondness for the foreigner, a deceptively clever but needlessly violent man who served as a spy for Savage as much or more than he did as an adviser to David. His daughter was an altogether different matter.

Speaking of which, to David's right sat his pride and joy, Kaldur of Raya ne Shayeris. A strong, brave, and clever boy, Kaldur was quickly approaching ruling age. Though Kaldur could not yet be considered his legitimate heir due to the mishap of his mother's treason, David had high hopes that through this war and an advantageous marriage to Lawrence's daughter, Artemis of Crock, he could successfully push his council to accept the boy as the rightful heir to the throne. Considering the people and the soldiers already adored and respected the boy a great deal, David had no doubt that it would be an easy enough feat to accomplish.

Waiting for the noise from his generals to rise to an appropriate level, David leaned back into his chair.

"Enough," he said lowly.

Silence fell.

_It is, _David thought, _not such a horrible thing to be king._

"I have allotted you adequate time to prepare your reports. General Derrius, your report, please."

"Your Majesty," said General Derrius, standing to attention and flashing the royal salute. "Reports from the northern front are grave. The Reginian troops continue to press the advantages of their homeland – in the cliffs and the mists, their arrows find more than enough room to hide, and to sow mayhem among our troops. These cowards trust that if they rain enough steel on our men and women, we will turn course and cease in our attempts to bring their land into the fold of your great kingdom."

As he spoke, he laid a hand on the map, fingers tracing over the jagged outline of Reginia.

"Following the loss of General Maltus, troop morale is low, but our numbers and our technology remain superior, and we must be unceasing if we are to show the northern barbarians our mettle. I propose we gather a new force, two hundred strong, and lead them to the frontlines. Summer is drawing near. When the mists burn off, the cowards will have nowhere to hide, and our swords will find them."

He hesitated once more, brow furrowing as he examined the map.

"There is only the matter of who might lead them."

David straightened in his throne, considering. From the corner of his eye he saw Lawrence tense, eager to offer a suggestion. Silencing the man with a hand, he considered the situation carefully.

He would want someone loyal only to him and his Kingdom – his ranks were already too full by half with men and women of shaky allegiance. Under normal circumstances, not a one of them would be in a position of power, let alone military leadership, but the needs of war made for strange bedfellows indeed.

In addition to loyalty, he would want someone clever, innovative. Many of the very men and women surrounding his table filled his first requirement, but not his second. They were used to fighting battles against the organized and well trained armies of Atlantis, not these sneaking, ill-organized barbarian cowards. Rather than face his army on the field, like true people, they instead lurked in their mists and mountains, harrying his troops and supply lines and whittling down his numbers like wind and rain on stone.

Stone would win out eventually, he knew, but he was not aiming for an eventual victory. Conquering Reginia was only a one task in a larger plan. The sooner Reginia fell, the sooner he could move towards his true goal. He needed someone new, someone young.

"Perhaps your niece, Derrius," King David said calmly. "I've heard very good reports of the girl from the reserves, and we've all seen how well she's done in the tournaments. What say you? Is the knight ready to step up to the front lines, to become a commander? Your house has shown much in the way of loyalty as of recent times. Giving her command would be an honor worthy of such loyalty."

Derrius's eyes widened ever so slightly as he weighed his words.

"My King," he said haltingly. "You know that nothing would bring me greater honor and pleasure than to have another of my line serve our cause. But Manzia, she is – a tournament is one thing, Your Majesty, but the frontlines are another. She is too raw. I am unsure that sending her would send the message of purpose and confidence you seek to deliver."

At David's right side, Kaldur shifted slightly in his chair as he heard the general speak. Kaldur knew what the man was not saying _– she is only sixteen – _and sympathized. The war had already cost so many of his father's best their sons and daughters, yet the northern barbarians had yet to let their mountain strongholds fall. Across the kingdom, whispers had begun to circulate of the futility of war, the hopelessness of ever achieving victory, at least on the northern front. Whoever took to the front to lead the resurgence had to be someone whose name would precede him.

And there it was – the seed of an idea

Kaldur sat back a moment, piecing half a picture together in his head as his father and the general continued to talk over the position. He knew that Father had plans for him – he'd made it clear that soon, they would be discussing the matter of the future of the kingdom, a conversation which frankly made Kaldur's stomach turn. He had no desire to play the political games required of a prince, no taste for courtly life and pomp, no enthusiasm for making sweeping decisions that would impact those he'd never even seen.

But this – this would be different. Dangerous, without a doubt – in fact, the likelihood that he would come home at all from such a mission seemed far from certain. And yet...even that seemed preferable to what lay in store for him at the palace.

"I will go, Father," he announced abruptly, his voice cutting into a lull in the meeting entirely by chance, not because he'd been paying the slightest bit of attention to the most recent part of it. "I will lead the reinforcements to the foothills."

Silence fell over the room. David turned to his son slowly, making every effort to maintain the illusion of calm. His son managed a passably reserved expression, but David knew his boy well enough to catch the glimmer of triumph in his eyes.

He knew well that his son did not relish the prospect of being king. Like most people of his age, his eyes and heart turned towards the field, where danger and glory awaited the bold and clever. Unlike most young fools, however, his son also knew, rather intimately, that death too waited. The boy had lost too many friends to battle to see it as an easy escape from his responsibilities.

What was worse, though, was that David was not the only one who knew these things of his son. Kaldur was well respected by his generals, and by the looks on their faces and the way their eyes weighed heavily on David, he knew that they agreed with Kaldur. To deny Kaldur his request would make it seem as if David were trying to shield his son from danger. It would make David look weak, and his confidence in Kaldur weaker still.

But to allow him this command – that would place Kaldur in a position to prove himself as a leader, not just the capable soldier he already was. While it was true that it would take the boy away from court and out of David's own influence, it would appear to the rest of the court as the logical choice, especially now that Kaldur had volunteered in front of all of David's generals.

The little bastard was too clever by half.

From the corner of his eye, David saw Lawrence signal to him.

"Your Majesty," he whispered softly when David turned to him. "Perhaps Kaldur's idea would serve you better if he were to be accompanied by a member of my entourage. As your son and a natural candidate for the future leader of your kingdom, it would be better that he begin to build ties with Savage now, would it not?" An evil gleam shone in the man's cold blue eyes. "Perhaps I could suggest my daughter, Artemis, as a suitable second in command?"

Sitting back, David had to force himself not to smile.

Yes, this would serve well indeed. Not only as a way to humble his son for attempting to trap him in front of his own generals, but also as a way to weaken Lawrence's influence on the palace. Second in command or no, Artemis would serve little purpose to her father as a spy on the front lines. And it would be good to get her away from her father's, and more importantly Savage's, influence.

His boy's impulsiveness and Lawrence's ambition would trap them both. David wasn't fond of Kaldur's suggestion, but there was the possibility that it could end up working in his favor.

"A fine suggestion, my son," David said finally, turning to Kaldur. "And the good baron has made one approaching its worth- Artemis of Crock shall accompany you as second in command on the campaign. Unless," and here David allowed himself a small smile, "You have any objections?"

Kaldur's jaw tightened slightly. It was not that he dreaded the prospect of setting off with the baron's daughter – far from it. Artemis had become, of late, his closest friend and his dearest confidante, after they had finally worked through a very awkward initial encounter (which, she assured him, was entirely her father's idea and not her own). Rather, he had not meant to entangle her in the bloody war he knew she doubted as much as he did. To risk his life was one matter, but to put hers on the line beside it...

He could not refuse, though, not when the matter had been framed in such practical terms. It was well known in the capital that Artemis was a master spy, a first-class archer and a brave warrior, though she'd had little training as a regimented soldier. To insist she stay behind would make it clear that his motivations for deploying were more complicated than a desire to court victory and honor.

And furthermore, he would miss her. However obnoxious their fathers' obvious desire to see them wed had become, he could not deny that having her with him would make the whole experience less hellish, perhaps even bearable.

"I have no objections," he said at last, sensing a note of victory in the way his father jutted his chin just a touch at his words. "Though I humbly request the honor of delivering the news to her myself."

"Excellent," David announced, clapping his hands together decisively. "You will leave for the north with the next regiment of reinforcements three days hence. I'm sure that's enough time to make your preparations?"

"Yes, Father," said Kaldur, inclining his head respectfully, then giving the salute, as Derrius had done. After all, he was a military commander now – not a prince. "Permission to begin preparations immediately?"

More than anything, he wished to find Artemis, to tell her of what had transpired. She deserved enough time to collect up her life.

"Granted," David said, waving him away. As the door closed behind his son he turned again to his generals. "Now that the matter of the the North-Eastern front has been sorted, I'd like to discuss the North-West. Moravian, what news have you of the siege on the Lakes?"

* * *

Twilight on the northern front, still and cool. With a final glance around the encampment, Kaldur stooped to admit himself to his tent, eyes slowly adjusting to the dim light of his current quarters, where only a small witchlight glowed. Not that it was much lighter outside – between the short autumn days, the wan sliver of a moon, and the dense fog that seemed always to wreathe the forests and the fields of this place, it seemed Reginia never got truly bright. Not like Raya, anyway.

He had expected to miss his homeland more. Yet truthfully, it was a relief to be gone from the pressures of the castle, the political web that he navigated with the sons and daughters of the kingdom's elite. He and his regiment had left the capital some four days before and made good time, though their progress had been hindered by the fog and the difficulty of traversing the increasingly mountainous terrain. Within a few days they would be deep enough into Reginian territory that they could expect to encounter the foes with whom they had come to do battle – the rogues and guerilla warriors of the north_. Be ever on guard,_ he had told his soldiers from the start. _Your enemy is without honor, and will not make himself known before he strikes._

So far, they had had no incident. Still, the many deaths of Rayan soldiers weighed on Kaldur's mind. He would be loath to repeat the mistakes of the commanders who had preceded him.

With a sigh, Kaldur reached down to unbuckle his left gauntlet, then his right, setting them atop his pack as he knelt beside his narrow cot. It was traditional for commanders to have more lavish accommodations, and Father had encouraged him to travel in greater luxury – _Your every gesture must demand respect,_ he had said, _or your men will give you none_– but in the end Kaldur had declined. A more lavish tent was nothing but extra weight on the backs of his soldiers. And besides, fur made him sneeze.

As he knelt, Kaldur saw a glint of metal at the corner of his tent. Wheeling, he drew his right sword.

"You really should be more observant," his would-be-assailant commented, unfolding from her place in the shadows. Artemis had donned her assassin's garb, a uniform of loose, nondescript grays and navies, specially designed to blend into the stony Reginia mountains. Her voluminous blond hair had been bound back and hidden behind a dark gray hood, all the better to allow her to go unseen in the shadowy land they found themselves fighting to conquer.

"If I were anyone else," she continued, lighting the lamp that hung overhead in the tent, "You'd be dead, and I'd have to find some other cute, uninterested prince to keep father occupied with," she finished teasingly, bumping him solidly in the hip.

"A tragedy indeed," Kaldur attempted to tease back, relaxing and lowering his sword as he hid his embarrassment. It was true that he needed to be more vigilant, particularly as they neared their goal, but it was hardly fair of Artemis – she had trained as a stealth warrior in the Savage Lands practically since birth, and was thus hardly an average assassin. He had yet to make enough of a name to attract _that_ level of hostile attention. "I take it your scouting team has come back in one piece?"

Sheathing his weapon, he took an awkward, armor-hampered seat on his bed roll and patted the space on the cot beside him in invitation. Yes, it would invite talk...but they had grown accustomed to such things, and even reached a mutual understanding about the usefulness of those false impressions.

"One of the new recruits managed to twist an ankle on the way back down the cliff face, but besides that there are no casualties to report," she replied, settling down beside him. Causally, she drew one of his armored arms up into her lab, smirking at the red that dusted his cheek. Picking at the knots and clasps that held his chest plate together, she continued her report.

"There used to be a small force, about ten to thirteen people, from the looks of it, encamped up on the cliff face about two miles down river from here. The fire pit looked fresh, only a day or so old, so I'm going to assume they saw us and high-tailed it out here to warn whoever it is their forces report to. I'd suggest doubling up guard facing the river, and moving camp about a quarter mile south of here. We've got intelligence that the Reginians are being supplied trebuchets from a certain meddlesome country that we're not technically allowed to call their allies yet, and the cliffs we're under would add to their range enough to cause us problems."

"Understood," said Kaldur, frowning at the news of the trebuchets even as he allowed Artemis to continue to remove his armor (it was forward, yes, but she always was, and he knew she meant nothing by it – if he thought she did, he would have stopped her). "From what intelligence we have gathered, I imagine it is more than likely they will strike first, and when they believe us unsuspecting. We would do best to be subtle about how we increase our guard, to lull them into thinking we are unprepared. Then when they do strike, we may take back the element of surprise."

As Artemis's deft fingers undid the last knot, the chestpiece came off, leaving him in light mail over a thin tunic. Nodding his thanks, he let his hands join hers in unbuckling his pauldron, which was the heaviest part of his armor, and also the most decorative, featuring elaborate metalwork of the crest of the Raya kingdom.

"And you," he asked hesitantly. "You are...in good spirits?"

It was an awkward way to check in, but he had never been very good at friendship, having not had much practice until her arrival in Raya about two years prior. There was one other lieutenant whom he had counted among his trusted companions for some time - Conner, an exile taken in by the Rayan military and raised as a career soldier - but he did not exactly ooze charisma. He and Kaldur were fast friends, but didn't give each other much practice in the way of conversation.

"Skulking around in fog, clinging to cliff faces for dear life, wading through muddy rivers, all with the added joy of knowing that an arrow could come out at any moment and put an end to me and my entire squad?" she questioned, pulling away the pauldron and setting it respectfully on the rug. Grinning, she turned to face him, arms outspread. "Kaldur, I get to be a spy again! My father is a hundred miles behind me and the only person giving me orders is, well, you!" Laughing, she winkled a knife into her palm that she began to toss hand-over-hand, catching it to gesture at him. "Honestly? If it wouldn't make the pigfucker so happy, I'd kiss you for this!"

"Well, I am grateful for your restraint," Kaldur joked, smiling up at her teasingly from his seat on the bedroll. The knife in her hands did not bother him – she was far too skilled an assassin to drop it, and far too good a friend to turn it against him. "And relieved that I have not caused you too much trouble in dragging you out here to the northlands. It is a dangerous mission, to be sure, but...I am glad to have you by my side, my friend."

Before he could sink further into sentimentality, though, a quiet knock on the thin wood of the tent post interrupted their meeting.

Kaldur shared a glance with Artemis, rising to his feet and beckoning her back into the shadows.

"Enter," he called, composing himself. Even half-armored, he needed to be sure his soldiers saw him as a capable leader.

The tent flap was swept aside, and a helmeted head poked inside.

"Good evening, uh, sir," a gruff yet uncertain voice greeted, and Kaldur instantly relaxed. "Cook wanted you to know the meal's ready."

"Thank you, Conner," the prince replied, offering his friend, a small smile. "We – I will be there shortly."

Conner nodded stiffly as he retreated, tent flap fluttering awkwardly in his wake.

Artemis turned to Kaldur, expression rueful. "We need to get that boy drunk, sir. I honestly don't think I've ever met a guy with a stick shoved further up his rear than that one. It's an attractive rear, to be sure-," here she shrugged, to indicate both that she meant no ill will towards Conner and that she did not expect Kaldur to take her suggestions seriously. "-But if we're going to be stuck stringing the poor boy along on our wild adventures, we need him to loosen up, yeah?"

"You forget whose company you keep," Kaldur chided, more a joke at his own expense than a rebuke. "You have been attempting to do the same to me for two years, now, and it has not succeeded. I am certain he will grow more comfortable as he finds his place around the other soldiers. Now come, you must be hungry after your scouting trip."

Out of habit, he checked to be sure his sword was in its sheath, along with the secondary dagger he carried at his right hip. He would eat for the evening without his full armor, but he would never be caught wholly unarmed, lest his soldiers mistake his trust in them for lowering his guard.

Stepping aside, Artemis gestured him through the opening of the tent, a rare deference to his rank. She kept pace just behind him as they made their way to the mess tent, a large structure near the back of the camp, hidden behind an overcrop of rock that served to conceal the cook fires from scouts watching from the cliffs across the river.

The evening air was cool and heavy with fog and the scent of dinner. It would be fish again tonight- the forward scouts of King David's army were not so foolish as to waste their rations when a river teeming with food ran right by their base camp. Low chatter came from the mess, leaking out of the large tent along with dim lamplight and the warming smell of a good fish stew.

Kaldur let his eyes flick through the surrounding trees, searching for threats as he entered the mess tent. Most of the soldiers had already congregated there – their garrison numbered about ninety, though there were over a hundred more in encampments nearby. Their strike had been segmented in three for the purpose of concealment and scouting. All three were due to reunite at a rendezvous point soon, and kept in contact via messenger hawk. They were never more than a half a day's ride away from the others. And in a few days...they would make their move.

That thought he did not dwell on. Kaldur did not relish the thought of actual warfare, though he understood its reasons. Raya faced threats from its many enemies, even from its supposed allies, the Savage Lands. The conquest of the North would give them unparalleled control of the river system that mobilized the entire subcontinent. War was necessary to maintain the kingdom, and the barbarians would succumb, but it would not be easy.

As he approached the line, Artemis a step behind him, the men and women of his garrison immediately stood and saluted him, the tent falling abruptly quiet in recognition of his arrival, but he quickly waved them off and took a place at the end of the line. There had been fuss about this, the first day, perhaps a few raised eyebrows, but he firmly believed that respect without reciprocation was meaningless – he would not pretend to be above his soldiers.

The dull roar of conversation that had faded at his entrance picked up again as he and Artemis settled to their places with their food. They occupied the two middle-most seats at the table that headed the mess tent. The seating arrangement was such that Kaldur and anyone sitting by him could easily look down the long tables that sat his soldiers, and vice versa. It made for a good viewpoint, lending itself to a more casual atmosphere than the usual high, raised table for one at which a commander would sit.

It also allowed Kaldur to keep an eye on certain members of his force who, at times, decided that they'd rather not sit at the command table with their peers.

Conner sat, rather predictably, near the end of the leftmost table. The young man was surrounded by younger soldiers, many of whom seem to have fixated on him as a role model, mistaking his almost painful shyness for rough stoicism.

Next to Kaldur, Artemis snorted.

"I see," she observed. "The good Lord Conner doesn't see fit to grace us with his presence, your Grace." She leaned in close to Kaldur, sniffing theatrically at his shoulder. "Perhaps it has something to do with the fact that you smell of dank river water," here she grinned slyly. "Again."

"You are one to talk," Kaldur scoffed back, dipping a piece of bread into his stew and taking a bite. "At least I have bathed in recent memory."

"Excuse me for not enjoying freezing my nether regions off," she retorted sharply, ripping her roll open with a knife. "Some of us weren't born with icewater in our blood, Your Grace. Honestly, between my skill and your and Conner's ridiculous immunities to the cold, I hardly think we even need your father's army to bring these barbarians to heel," she boasted, filling the roll with stew. It was an odd way of eating by Kaldur's own reckoning, but Artemis assured him it was similar something she called 'dumplings'- a meal from her mother's lands.

Kaldur shook his head and hid a smile in his next spoonful of stew, letting the noise of the camp rise up to fill the silence between them. Soon, though, he became aware of more noise than there ought to have been – a quarrel, across the mess somewhere. He lifted his head up to seek out the source of the commotion and spotted it: three newer recruits, on the far side of the tent, engaged in some kind of heated argument, though at this distance it was difficult to tell about what. Narrowing his eyes, Kaldur waited a moment to see if the issue would resolve itself, but instead, it seemed to grow worse, drawing more attention from the soldiers around.

Finally, when one of the men involved put a hand to the hilt of his sword, Kaldur stood. He had just opened his mouth to issue a command for silence when one of the women in the arguing trio jumped to her feet and dealt the man a stinging blow to the face, an act that sent a ripple of noise through the crowd. Before anyone could so much as place a bet, the man had drawn his blade and taken a swing at the woman, the blade whistling past her and clipping the mail sleeve of a man seated nearby.

As the inevitable chaos broke loose, newcomers rising to add their shouts to the existing dispute, Kaldur gritted his teeth and began to advance toward the group, pace deliberate, expression supremely unamused.

Artemis stayed seated, seemingly content to watch the chaos unfold. From what she'd told him of her time training in the Shadowlands, it wasn't surprising that she viewed the brawl as entertainment more than anything else.

Conner caught Kaldur's eye as he passed, motioning with his head to see if Kaldur wanted backup. Kaldur laid a hand on the other man's shoulder- he did not require assistance in handling a few recruits.

One of the six soldiers engaged in the brawl saw her commander approaching like a quiet storm and immediately snapped to attention. The other five continued their fight. The man who'd been clipped by the instigator's sword had disarmed his attacker and was currently struggling to choke the man from behind, one arm hooked around his shoulder and the other pressing into his throat. The woman and the other man who had been involved in the fight were fending off a woman who appeared to be trying to come to the aid of the instigator, keeping themselves between her and the other pair.

Kaldur gave a ghost of a nod to the woman who had had the good sense to quit when she saw him approaching. Head level, hand on his blade, he came to a halt directly in front of the five who had not yet noticed his presence. When a moment further had passed and they had still not acknowledged him, he stepped to the side, slammed his fist into the nearest table, and barked out a sharp shout of "enough!"

The sound would have been alarming enough had it not been paired with the look of unmistakable anger on Kaldur's face, but with it, it was enough to make the five scramble to rise and salute, a jumbled concoction of apologies and excuses falling from their mouths. He waved them off.

"Have you forgotten," he began, voice deadly quiet now, "that we are here to do battle with the barbarians of Reginia? Or are you under the impression that we are here to emulate them?"

"Sir, we – I – " one of the women began.

But before she could finish, a sudden flash of light seared into the tent through the fabric on the front side, whistling down and burying itself in the wood of the table beside them.

It was an arrow – a flaming arrow, Kaldur noticed with some alarm.

"To arms!" he called out immediately, but in as long as it had taken him to say as much, another burning shaft had torn through the tent and landed on the ground just beside the cook's preparation table.

_The preparation table, _Kaldur realized,_ where all the camp's cook oil sat in a wooden barrel._

"Conner, evacuate the mess," Kaldur shouted, dumping a nearby cup of water on the flaming arrow that had buried itself in the table beside him.

"Everyone out of the tent, now!" Conner bellowed, eyes widening as he followed Kaldur's gaze. "Regroup under the overhang, but stay away from the tent!"

The soldiers jumped quickly to their feet, hurrying in orderly chaos to the exit flaps.

Conner followed them out, nodding to Kaldur to indicate that he would keep the soldiers under control while Kaldur took care of the fire.

Artemis appeared by his side, hood up and bow strung and clenched tightly in one fist.

"You need any help here?" she questioned, pulling Kaldur low under a table. It wouldn't do if their commander got skewered with an arrow meant for the cooking oil.

Kaldur shook his head. _No._

"I'm going to go flank around the river, see if I can find the goatfuckers who are shooting at us. Watch your back while I'm gone, okay? It's pretty convenient that they seem to know exactly where we keep the cooking oil in our covered tent."

With that she was off, slipping quietly out one of the back exits, facing away from the river. The dark greys and browns of her attire blended into the fog and dappled shadows of the landscape, rendering her nigh invisible only a few meters away. The unsuspecting barbarians trying to ambush them would never even see her coming.

Another arrow zipped through the tent, thudding down on the table right above the oil barrel, snapping Kaldur back to the task at hand.

Emerging from beneath the table, Kaldur took stock of the area - three more flaming arrows had met their mark, though one had fizzled out in the mist-damp wood of the table. The other two had found purchase on the cloth-topped cook's table, where the flames had begun a nascent blaze that was slowly but surely making its way toward the oil.

For an instant, he contemplated snatching the barrel up, eliminating the danger with his bare hands, but it was too far away, and the maneuver too risky - if he miscalculated even by a few seconds, it would explode, and he would be ashes before he even found the frontlines. No, he would have to quell the fire directly.

Falling into casting stance - feet spread shoulder-breadth, arms parallel to the ground - Kaldur took a deep breath and began to rotate his hands in slow circles, drawing from within the mystic energy that connected him to the water around him. The river was too far off and he was too untrained a mage to call on it, but the fog was thick, and he could feel it humming with the power that ran through his own veins, birthright of his water-witch mother. Closing his eyes, he focused on that power, fingers twisting in the fluid motions he'd worked so hard to learn.

Another arrow zipped into the tent, striking one of the support posts only a foot or so to his right, but he did not flinch, and at last, the fog began to twist and curl with his motions, condensing into something more liquid, more substantial, a stream that stayed suspended in the increasingly smoky air. In that instant, the fire jumped, sparking across the open air in a magnificent arc toward the oil barrel. Only a few seconds to eat through the wood, and the whole mess would be up in flames….

With a grunt of exertion, Kaldur flicked his hands forward and sent the mass of floating water flying toward the impending disaster.

The water and fire met in an explosion of steam, which Kaldur bounded forward hurriedly to recondense; the second time he sent it crashing down over the flames, they withered into embers. The third time - a fresh bout of water, drawn in from the fog around the tent - left the table doused and cold, and the air around them eerily clear.

The fall of arrows seemed to have decreased by then, but to be sure there would be no more accidents, Kaldur drenched the rest of the table and barrel in water. He then quickly moved the barrel, rolling it far away from its original place to a remote corner of the tent and stashing it beneath one of the long dining tables.

Oil secured, he hurried to see how Conner and the rest were faring. Exiting the tent, he was grateful to see that it seemed no one had thus been injured. Conner had done well- the soldiers were formed up in their squads behind the overhang, grouped in close to achieve maximum protection. Many of them had brought their shields with them to the mess tent and had overlapped them near the rear of the formation to create a protective barrier above those who would not be as well hidden from the cliffs by the overhang.

On spotting him, Conner called out, "Commander! Is the fire handled?"

"It is," Kaldur confirmed, eyes scanning the dim landscape as he emerged from the mess tent. "Though the enemy clearly knows about our camp than he ought. Do not let your guard down just yet."

Noting that the hail of arrows had ceased, Kaldur set about dealing with the next of their problems – the fools responsible for the distraction. With a final glance into the dim treetops, he stepped out of the shadow of the tent and began to cross over toward his soldiers, searching among their faces for the imbeciles who had startled the altercation in the mess. He would need to make an example of them, later, perhaps extra supplies to haul, or additional duties caring for the draft horses (he would not consider cutting their rations – a hungry force was a weak force).

But before he could reach them, another arrow came hurtling out of the sky, this time from the cliffs above. Before Kaldur had time to blink, much less dodge, it had pierced his mail shift and thudded deep into his shoulder, wrenching an unbidden cry of pain from his lips. Hand flying to the wound, he fell to his knees.

"Kaldur!" Conner shouted, hefting his long shield in hand. He sprinted out from beneath the overhang, keeping the shield between his upper body and the cliffs. Upon reaching Kaldur he grabbed the wounded man by the waist with one arm, hefting him close. An arrow thudded off his shield as he backed back towards the cliffs, dragging Kaldur with him.

The ranks parted to let the two in towards the base of the overhang. Once there, Conner settled Kaldur gingerly against the rock wall, kneeling beside him.

A healer rushed up from the middle of the formation, medical bag already open as she rummaged in it for her supplies. Out came a small bottle of clear liquid, followed by a wad of clean linen.

"Have him open his mouth, please," the healer said, addressing Conner as she pressed the linen to Kaldur's chest. "Then help me get this armor off of him."

"The archers are still out there," Conner said uncertainly.

The healer huffed. "And we're behind a great big rock, with our Commander bleeding out from an arrow wound that I can't treat if it's behind chainmail."

"Conner," Kaldur grit through his teeth. "Kindly stop arguing with the woman and get this thing out of me. But I will take no opium," he asserted, eyeing the bottle. "It would be unwise."

The healer opened her mouth as if to argue, saw the look in Kaldur's eye, and seemed to think better of it.

"We can't pull the arrow out yet, your Grace," she said respectfully instead, as if he'd just remembered that Kaldur being wounded didn't mean he was deaf. "Unless we pull it out correctly, the tip will get stuck and cause infection, even death."

"Then how do we get the armor off?" Conner snapped.

Rather than responding, the healer produced a small saw from her kit and shortened the arrow shaft, removing the fletched portion. "Now we can pull his armor off around it. Slip your hand beneath the shirt and steady the arrow while I work the mail off of it," she directed.

Once Conner had followed her instructions, the healer carefully began to pull the chainmail out and away from Kaldur's body. The attempt jarred the shaft, causing Kaldur to wince and huff in pain. Eventually the maneuver was done, though, and the healer directed Kaldur to hold his arms over his head so she could remove the shirt. This process, too, was a painful one- but it was necessary for her to be able to treat the wound.

"This would be much easier if His Grace were to take the opium," the healer muttered.

"Again," Kaldur grit out, the voice tight with pain, "We are still under attack. I do not have the luxury of a clouded mind, pain or no."

The woman did not deign to reply, instead setting to work on Kaldur's chest. First she cut away the blood-sodden undershirt, then directed Conner to help Kaldur to his back on the ground.

"Give him this," she directed, passing Conner a thick strip of leather. "He's going to need it when I pull the shaft out. Let's pray these barbarians know how to bind their arrow heads properly- I'd rather not have to dig around in his shoulder to find it if it snaps off."

Complying, Conner offered the strip for Kaldur to bite down on. Once it was secure, Kaldur nodded to the healer to proceed.

"Sir Conner, hold His Grace down for this. The pain will be, uh. Quite intense."

Conner braced his hands against Kaldur's uninjured shoulder, securing his other side by pressing down on the other man's pectoral.

Once Kaldur was secure, the healer wrapped her hands tightly around the remainder of the shaft, close to Kaldur's body as possible, braced herself on her knees, and pulled.

Kaldur had prepared himself to make no sound at all – his soldiers were watching, and he would be damned before he appeared weak in front of them – but the agony that accompanied the ripping of the arrowhead from his flesh was sharper than he could possibly have anticipated. A bellow of anguish, muffled by the leather strap, erupted from his throat as his back arched unbidden.

After one blood-searing moment, though, it was over, leaving him shuddering on his back and gasping for breath. He could see the arrowhead in the healer's crimsoned hand, though it was swimming before him. So much for a clear mind.

"Artemis," he managed to utter as he turned his head to spit out the leather strap. "She has gone after our attackers, alone. She is - " he hissed in fresh pain as the healer applied a new wad of linen to his freely bleeding shoulder – "see to it that she returns safely. Conner, take a…a squad, ensure that she…"

"Your Grace, I'm really going to have to request that you stop trying to speak. You need to calm down and breathe more shallowly- you're aggravating your wound," the healer said kindly, one hand soft on his shoulder while the other packed clean cotton wadding into the wide puncture the arrow had left.

"Artemis would kill me if I sent a 'clumsy, clanging pack of trumpeting elephants' after her," said Conner stiffly, shifting Kaldur carefully so he was lying flat on the ground at a motion from the healer. "She can handle herself against a few barbarians. If she's not back in half an hour, I'll lead a small team to go look for her."

Kaldur, apparently too weakened to argue, didn't respond, instead allowing himself to be maneuvered to the ground.

Conner finished settling his friend, then looked about at the soldiers still huddled beneath the overhang. Most of them seemed concerned for their commander- all of them had pressed in closer to the center. Whether it was to get a look at Kaldur or to avoid being the next victim of the Reginian archers, Conner couldn't guess. He suspected it was a mix of both.

"Lieutenant!" he barked, summoning the nearest soldier whose single black stripe on his red armband marked him as a low-ranking officer. "I want a status report ready for the commander in five minutes," he demanded as the man hurried up to him. "I want a list of our wounded, an assessment of damages, an approximate direction for the arrow fire, and a rough count of how many arrows fell on the camp total. Don't leave the overhang- just get the ranks beneath the shields to start counting by what they can see. I want to get an estimate on how many people the Reginians had firing on us."

"Conner – Artemis, she mentioned that there may be-" Kaldur rasped from the ground.

"-Yessir, I'll get accountability of the entire element as soon as we have confirmation from Lady Artemis that the Reginians have left the area," Conner said quickly, then blushed deeply. He was mortified to have cut Kaldur off like that, but the man was hardly conscious due to blood loss and wasn't thinking clearly. The commander never would have mentioned the possibility of a spy in their camp in front of a low-ranking officer otherwise.

"I – " Kaldur began, more to assert that he could still speak than to give an order, then remembered the medic's warning and shut his mouth as a wave of nausea rolled over him. He shut his eyes, trying to focus on anything but the pain and the way the world was revolving rapidly around him, and slipped quickly into darkness.

* * *

When he awoke, it was to sunlight streaming over his head through an opened tent flap, and a persistent throbbing sensation just above his left clavicle. He had been stripped to the waist and laid out on a crudely built cot, doubtlessly in the medical tent. As the previous evening's events rushed back to him, he let out a soft curse at his own stupidity and tried to sit up, an endeavor that immediately proved overambitious. A louder curse escaped his lips and he lowered himself back down, turning his head to try and get a look at the injury.

"For a commander who's so merciful to his subordinates, you really don't know how to do your own body any favors, do you, Your Grace?" drawled a drained but amused voice to the right.

Gingerly, Kaldur turned his head to survey the tent, seeking out the shadows where he knew Artemis would eventually reveal herself from.

"Down here," came a whisper.

With considerable difficulty, he managed to shift himself so he was looking down at the floor.

Artemis smiled up at him from her bedroll. She looked exhausted and more than a little filthy, like she hadn't taken a break since coming back from her mid-ambush recon.

"Hey there handsome," she said, voice tired. "I'm not sure how I feel about the extra hole that bastard punched in you, but I can't say I mind the view."

Kaldur fought conflicting urges to laugh and to scowl, and ended up just twisting his mouth awkwardly as he reached down with his good hand to draw the blankets up further. He was not a terrifically self-conscious person, at least not physically, but Artemis always had a way of drawing out that side of him. She loved to watch him squirm, and well...who was he to deny her that pleasure?

"You are back safely," he commented, trying not to sound too relieved, lest he imply he had doubted her abilities in any way - he had not, but he was still glad to see that his best friend remained in one piece. "And none too clean. Are there bodies we ought to be sending soldiers to bury?"

Her face twisted into an ugly scowl. "Actually, I've got some good news and some bad news on that front." Sitting up and shifting her blankets, she presented him with a small, watertight bag.

"I recovered those from the site I found overlooking the river," she commented as he took it. "There were a lot of small bones in the fire pit, indicating that either a small squad was there for a few days or, more worryingly, one scout's been watching us for weeks. I only found one spot that looked like it'd been slept in, though. So I'm leaning more towards the later than the former. And that's," she paused, taking a breath. Gently, she opened the drawstrings of the bag, then tipped it over from Kaldur's hands into her own.

"That's without looking at this," she said tightly. She sounded worried. It was an emotion Kaldur wasn't used to hearing from her, and it set him on edge.

Out of the bag tumbled a small roll of vellum bound to a jagged arrowhead. The arrowhead was made of a strange material, glassy and a deeper black than anything Kaldur had ever seen, even his father's legendary armor, for which his family's line was named.

Carefully, Artemis unwound the arrowhead's binding, setting it to the side as she unrolled the vellum.

Slowly, she read: _"'Let's see if you prove more of a challenge than your general, Prince of Raya.'"_

Kaldur's brow furrowed at her words. Silently, he reached out his hand for the scroll; Artemis leaned over to place it in his palm, careful not to make him reach too far lest he strain his shoulder, and he nodded his thanks.

His eyes crossed the vellum, tracing the form of the script. The penmanship was elegant, rehearsed – whomever it belonged to clearly had noble blood enough to have learned and practiced the art of letters.

"Help me sit up," he requested.

"You shouldn't _be_ sitting up."

"I am not as delicate a thing as you take me for," said Kaldur, a touch of impatience in his voice. "I will do it myself if you will not assist me."

"You're impossible," said Artemis, scowling and pushing aside her covers and to crawl to his bedside. On her knees, she helped leverage him into a sitting position, pretending not to see the grimace of pain that crossed his face as she did so. He would have done the same for her.

Kaldur nodded his thanks, laying the vellum out on his lap and studying it in the better light.

"So it is the Fiend of the Mists again," he remarked in a low voice. "Come to dissuade us from our march with his threats and his cowardly sniping."

"I still can't get over how you people gave that sorry excuse for an archer such a title to live up to. If I'd had a shot like the one your imbecilic behind apparently gave them, you'd be lying in a much less comfortable bed, keeping company with worms," Artemis commented wryly. The tremble in the corner of her waning smirk gave away the ruse, though - her half-hearted insults couldn't undo the gaping hole in her best friend's shoulder. She was just one lone shadow- nowhere near enough to shield Kaldur from this foe, not if he insisted on running out into the open to attend to every wayward idiot who caused dissent amongst his troops.

"I assure you that it was not my intention to get shot," Kaldur remarked, still contemplating the noble arches of his would-be-assassin's script.

"By the gods- Your Grace! What do you think you're doing!" came an irate growl from the tent entrance. The healer from before, a dark woman of short hair and sharp, expressive features, hurried over to Kaldur's bedside.

"You're going to undo the stitches if you insist on stretching it like that," she groused. "Please, lie back down."

"My shoulder is in exactly the same posi - " Kaldur began, before he caught a glimpse of murder in his medic's eyes, thought better of it, and immediately fell silent. Passing the vellum back to Artemis, he reclined back onto the bed with the newcomer's insistence, letting out only the softest hiss of pain as he unfolded the last few inches. "What is the damage, healer?"

"Raquel," she told him as she set down her kit, a tidy satchel of little packets and bottles. "I imagine we'll be seeing a plenty of each other for the next while, so you might as well know my name. And you'll live, Commander, but it may be a few weeks before you can heft a shield again."

"You should have been carrying one last night," Artemis cut in, frowning at Kaldur. Raquel's eyebrows raised slightly at the admonition, certainly out of rank and perhaps out of line, but Kaldur merely shut his eyes and nodded.

"I was not thinking of my own safety," he admitted. "Once the tent was secure, I thought only of the...the other danger."

He met eyes with Artemis, silently asking the question - was Conner investigating the apparent betrayal of one of their number?

Artemis glanced sidelong at Raquel, tilting her head slightly in question. Was it safe to discuss this in front of someone neither of them knew?

At Kaldur's slight shake, no, Artemis replied noncommittally:

"I already gave you the report," she said. "There's no information that I haven't shared with you." _No news, but we're looking._

Kaldur gave a slight nod over Raquel's shoulder, making it clear that he understood.

"Your healing is coming along remarkably well, considering you took the arrow less than a day ago," Raquel remarked, finished with her investigation of Kaldur's wound packing, "How's the pain, Highness?"

"It is manageable," Kaldur replied, wincing as she dabbed a small amount of salve to the surrounding skin. The substance burned, but he recognized the smell - honey. It would keep the site clean and moist (not that the morning fog wasn't doing the latter plenty well already).

"Liar," muttered Artemis from her bedroll.

"Am I not managing?" Kaldur asked her pointedly.

"All right then," Raquel interjected, putting away the salve. "Charming as your sweet nothings may be, I think it'd be a good idea for His Grace to get some rest."

"We still have more to discuss," Artemis said lowly, arching her brow. Raquel was more demanding and willing to speak her mind than Artemis was used to from Raya's militaristic citizens.

"Chit-chat all you want," said Raquel. "I won't stop you. Just keep his royal posterior on that bed and don't ask him to think too hard."

"You won't stop me," Artemis echoed, voice flat and incredulous. "You are aware of whom you're speaking to, soldier?"

"Extremely," said Raquel, looking down at her kit. Snapping it shut, she straightened out and slung it over her shoulder. "Though with all due respect, Lady Artemis, I'm a healer, not a soldier."

Artemis's legs curled around, eyes narrowing as she prepared herself to stand.

"Are you getting smart with me, _soldier_?"

"Enough," Kaldur cut in, obediently reclined on his cot. Unable to lift his arms or make any sort of accompanying gesture, he shut his eyes. "Raquel - you are dismissed. Thank you for your assistance."

"Of course, Your Grace," said Raquel, lips pressed tight. She turned to leave, but paused with the tent flap up, her back to the two who remained inside it.

"There's a world of difference doing your job for your country," she said, pausing in the opening, "and taking senseless orders just because someone in power barks loud enough. I'd respectfully suggest you learn the difference, Shadowlander."

And without another word, she'd left.

Artemis was on her feet before the flap had fallen, mouth opening in advance of a furious retort, but once again, Kaldur cut in:

"My friend," he said, voice neither harsh nor admonishing, just tired. "Is there not discord enough among our ranks already?"

Artemis gritted her teeth.

"You can't let your own soldiers walk over you like that," she shot back, fists clenched at her sides. "Especially now that you're wounded - you can't try and win everyone's favor, Your Grace, you have to show that you're still in command, or they'll - "

" - speak to me as you do?" Kaldur interrupted, arching an eyebrow.

"I'm not one of your soldiers," Artemis huffed defensively, before she happened to glance down and see the expression on Kaldur's face - tired, pained, certainly, but with a fond amusement in his eyes. He was teasing, not rebuking.

"Fine," she relented. "I'll let it go, but just this one time. She's right about one thing, at least - you need to rest."

"As you command," Kaldur murmured, eyes already slipping shut. "When I awaken next, we will amend our plans to accommodate my idiocy. I expect a...a full report."

Scarcely was the sentence over when his chest resumed a deep, steady rise and fall. He was asleep.

Staring down at her unconscious commander, Artemis fought simultaneous urges to roll her eyes and to tuck him in. The man was a fool - a stubborn, prideful, overanalytical fool...and her best friend. Perhaps her only friend.

"Yes sir," she muttered, opting for the eye-rolling option, and swept out of the tent.

* * *

"Three weeks," Kaldur muttered, setting aside the small scroll on which he'd just copied his latest instructions to his officers. He wiped the quill dry, lips pressed into a dissatisfied frown. "By this time, we'd planned to be in the Starbridge Wood, ready to strike when the fogs lifted."

"Well, some of our troops are there," Artemis pointed out, leaning against the tent-pole and eyeing what he'd written. "And the fogs certainly are, too, so you haven't missed anything yet. No use beating yourself up when the enemy already has."

Kaldur bit back an uncharacteristic scowl. A score of days spent leading from behind and bearing witness to heated staring contests between his second-in-command and his only decent healer had done little to lighten his mood, but it was not fair to take his frustration out on Artemis. She had been nothing but helpful to him, keeping the recruits in line and making sure he was able to communicate with those who still pressed forward into Reginia, a march his injury had prevented him from joining.

"Any word from Conner?" he asked, setting two small stones on either end of the scroll to hold it open while it dried. "How do the new recruits fare?"

"Still stepping on his heels," Artemis replied, rolling her eyes. "I swear to the gods they'd follow him off a cliff if he led them there."

"It is good that they trust him," said Kaldur. "When the time comes, perhaps he should be the one to lead them in battle."

A rap at the front tent-pole caught both their attention; Kaldur set aside the inkwell and sat up in his bed.

"Enter," he ordered.

"A messenger from the capital, Commander," said a voice as the tent flap pulled back.

Into the tent came a man, thin and willowy, his shoulders wrapped in a lavish, fur-lined cloak that seemed starkly out of place in the military encampment. As he entered, his eyes swept around the tent in obvious appraisal, before he dipped his head in a gesture of deference and turned to Kaldur.

"I come bearing healing gifts, Your Grace," the small man said, presenting Kaldur with a tiny, pearlescent jar. It was about the size of a snuff box, and if seemed to glow with an eerie red light.

Artemis stepped forward and plucked it from the man's hands, scrutinizing it. The young man's grey eyes widened at her boldness, his thin lips twisting momentarily in a displeased grimace before he quickly schooled his face back into placid subservience.

"The gift is meant for his Grace," he said lightly, gesturing that Artemis should hand the jar over to Kaldur.

"And I'm the person whose job it is to intercept threats for His Grace," she shot back snidely. She seemed to regard the man with blatant disrespect, even distrust. "What is this, anyways?" she demanded, holding it disdainfully. "It smells like Savageland spices- not exactly known for their healing properties, are they?"

The young man scowled, grabbing for the jar. "Give it to me before you break it and make it so my entire journey was for naught," he snapped, stamping his foot. He seemed for a moment more like a spoiled child than an envoy, no matter where he may have come from.

"Artemis," Kaldur cut in, sitting up – the pain was not such an issue now, except when he attempted to lift things with his left arm (generally a useful ability in war). "Our guest has come a long way. Let us not forget our manners just because we stand beneath camp tents and not castle turrets."

He held out his hand for the jar, which his friend reluctantly passed over, her brow furrowing in what looked like anger, but he suspected was more worry on his behalf.

"Did my father send you?" he asked the man. "Have you word from the capital?"

"Yes and yes," the young man replied, smoothing his robes and hair in a play-act at regaining his composure. "Excuse my rudeness, your Grace. I am Tricklieon Nighthawk. I was sent by my King, Vandal Savage, on behalf of himself and your father. You father sends this letter," Tricklieon handed him a sizable scroll of vellum, sealed with King Manta's seal and produced from one of the man's billowing sleeves. "And his well-wishes. My master sends the ointment, which, despite _some_ people's unfounded and frankly _insulting_ misconceptions," here Trickleion paused for dramatic effect, shooting a glare in Artemis's direction, "is made from powerful Capital healing magic and our local medicines. Our land produces great magics of all kinds, you Grace, and the Capital is the epicenter of that greatness," Tricklieon asserted firmly. "Which is more than I can say for the Shadowlands," he finished smugly, smirking.

"If by healing you mean necromantic, I'm sure the salve is very potent," Artemis sneered back. "There is a reason you people up in the scrub are so desperate to send Shadowlanders to conquer other lands for you, boy. The only thing that grows in that godforsaken desert is poison."

"Lady Artemis," Kaldur said again, more pointedly this time. "Perhaps you would do me the favor of checking to see if the cook has anything for our guest to eat."

He gave her a meaningful look – being forward with him was one thing, but being unabashedly rude to someone in a position of power with King Savage was another. He knew that the alliance between Raya and the Savage Lands was a tense one to begin with. The last thing he needed was for his second-in-command to trigger animosity between Raya and the one neighbor with which it wasn't actively at war.

The archer held his eyes for a moment, clearly itching to push the matter further, but at the last moment she jabbed her head sharply (a nod of deference?) and made to duck out of the tent.

"Wait one moment, Shadowlander," Tricklieon interjected. "I've brought a message from your father as well."

He produced yet another scroll from his seemingly infinite sleeves and held it out toward her.

She recoiled, and a reprimand hung on Kaldur's tongue until he noticed that her eyes fixed not on Tricklieon but on the vellum itself. Her expression was apprehensive, her body language tense.

Then, with a sigh, she gathered herself and accepted the scroll, tucking it into one of the innumerable pockets hidden in the depths of her uniform.

"Thanks," she said flatly, and not waiting for Tricklieon's response, she left quickly. As the flap closed Kaldur noted that she was headed not in the direction of the mess, but towards her private quarters.

"Your bride-to-be is rather, hm. _Fiery_, for a noblewoman, isn't she?" Tricklieon mused, watching her exit with an unreadable expression.

"My second-in-command is sharp of tongue, mind and blade, yes," Kaldur replied flatly. "I thank you for your troubles, Lord Nighthawk. I would have my tent now, to make use of your salve and to see what my Father has to say to me – do you require anything for your journey home? Provisions, a place to rest for one night...?"

"Ah," the man tutted, brushing his golden hair back with a dramatically apologetic look. "I knew there was something of import that I had failed to mention, distracted as I was by that sharp tongue." Tricklieon produced yet another scroll, this one of exceedingly fine parchment and sealed with the now-familiar seal of Vandal, High King of the Savage Lands.

"Orders," the little man said lightly, "From my King. I am to stay here for a few weeks, to survey your progress." At Kaldur's look of offense, he amended, "It isn't that we don't trust your reports, Your Grace, or doubt your competence. But the Savage Lands are heavily invested in this little venture of ours, and the King likes to keep a close, personal eye on his investments. I trust this will be of no issue to you?" he finished, and the smile he gave Kaldur was almost challenging, his tone honeyed to the point where, were Kaldur a more prideful man, he would suspect the man of mockery.

Kaldur took the scroll, unrolling it and letting his eyes skim across the words. Though he took care not to let the look on his face express the depth of his dissatisfaction, he was certain the newcomer could sense that he was less than pleased.

"Very well," Kaldur said at last, setting the scroll aside. "I suppose given that I am the one who foolishly stepped into enemy fire, complicating our advance, I have no grounds on which to contest such an order. We welcome the honor of your presence. Have you traveled with accommodations, or will you require a tent?"

Inwardly, he cursed the political spiderweb that tied his hands. It was bad enough that he was near-bedridden, confined to wandering the camp for a few hours each day to meet with the captains who were still forging ahead. Now he had to deal with this condescending politician as well.

Trickleion's smile seemed to barely resist becoming a sneer. "Your offer is, while quite kind, unnecessary. I was apprised of the, well, conditions here on the front-," here he glanced down at his polished leather boot. It was currently coated in the thick, sucking mud that was an unfortunate result of the camp's new location in the marshy area off the river bend. "-Before I set out- I brought my own living arrangements, as well as attendants. I merely require a place to set up my little camp, and then you'll hardly know I'm here at all," he finished, seemingly unaware of his own slip.

Kaldur had suspected that there were spies in his camp from the Savage Lands. The fact that Tricklieon had, apparently, been somehow made aware of the camp's unfortunate mud problem despite the fact that Kaldur had specifically avoiding sending any details about the camp's conditions or location beyond the barest basics in his reports proved it. It would be a disaster if the enemy intercepted reports containing clues as to where his camp was hidden- but apparently his own reports weren't the only information leaving the camp that he needed to work on censoring.

"We will find you a spot near the rear of the camp," Kaldur allowed, choosing to keep the accusation of spying for a later date. "It will be safer there."

"Oh, I'm not worried about my safety," Tricklieon scoffed. "I have more confidence in your competence than that. Rather, why don't you place me next to your own tent? It'd help me keep better apprised of the goings-on," he finished, this time with another one if his bows.

Kaldur's fingers tightened on the salve jar. Toes curling in his boots, he fought the temptation to kick the man in the face from where he sat on his bed. At first he had assumed the bows were a sign of respect, but it was quickly becoming apparent that the foreign ingrate had no concept of such a thing, and was using the gesture to mock him.

_'Yes, by all means, rearrange my __**entire**__ camp so your tent can be by mine- just so long as you don't mind my sword being shoved through your eavesdropping ear when you lean against the tent walls to more clearly hear all the fascinating details of our intriguing and treacherous daily life,' _Kaldur thought bitterly._ 'Like slogging through this damned swamp and crawling hands and knees through three miles of solid fog to get the information __**your**__ King demands and then does __**nothing**__ with. You little __**viper**__.'_

Aloud, he replied, "Perhaps a compromise- there is ample room behind my tent, and but the medical tent behind it. If we were to both set up where that tent currently is and move it in front, there would be plenty of room for you," _and hopefully you'd get dragged into the night by one of the barbarians' marsh spirits,_ he added silently.

Tricklieon nodded, looking satisfied with the compromise. "I'll begin making the arrangements immediately-"

"What in the gods' names are you holding?" Raquel interjected as she entered, holding Kaldur's daily change of bandages in one hand. "Whatever that red mess is, His Grace had best not be planning on slathering it on his wound before he gets the advice of his healer," she reprimanded sharply, shoving past Tricklieon to examine the salve. Sniffing it, she exclaimed- "Savage Land spices- are you trying to get an infection?"

"What does your soldier think she's doing?" Tricklieon exclaimed furiously. "Get your hands off of that, you wench! And how dare you insult King Savage's gift to your commander- that salve is worth more than the lives of you and your entire backwater village combined!"

Raquel froze, face contorting in rage like Kaldur had never seen from her before, not in even in the most heated of her frequent debates with Artemis. She turned towards the diplomat, hand raised as if to strike him-

Kaldur caught her wrist gently. "I have been quite assured of the value of your gift," he said lowly, addressing Tricklieon. "But Healer Ervin is my medic- she is a trained professional, and one of the most valued members of my command. In Raya, we treat one of such vital importance and selfless service with respect. I demand that you issue an apology to her immediately- you are a guest here, sir, and I will _not_ tolerate you harassing my subordinates," he finished icily releasing his gentle grip on Raquel. Somewhat mollified, she settled back to await Tricklieon's response.

The blond man stood gaping like a fish, jaw working back-and-forth in obvious shock and rage. "I will not _apologize_ to a _peasant_," he spat. "Your customs be damned. If you need me, _Your Grace_, I will be seeing to my tent. Make sure your _**healer**_," he sneered the word, eyeing Raquel with distaste, "Moves her tent when she's done 't_ending to your wound_'," he finished, sweeping out of the tent with a swish of colored robes and toss of his hair.

"That little shit," Raquel grit out, tensed with anger. "Did he honestly just imply-"

"-Implications or not," Kaldur snapped, somewhat annoyed at her, "You must learn to check your tongue when talking to Savage Lands officials- they do not share the same customs as ourselves, but we need to be able to work with them. Do I make myself clear?"

"Crystal," Raquel retorted bitterly. "Well, Your Grace, may this lowly peasant treat your arrow wound, or are her hands now unworthy to touch your person?"

Sighing, Kaldur bent his head in his hands. "Raquel," he said more softly, all annoyance draining out of him. "I know your feelings, and please trust that I agree- Lord Nighthawk had no right to talk of you as he did. But we are at war, and I cannot fight a battle here amongst my allies as well as one against my enemies. Please, try to understand," he finished, straightening to look her in the eye. "If I could afford to alienate the Savage Landers, I would challenge him to a duel for insulting your honor in such a manner. But I am a commander, and my father's loyal lieutenant. The consequences of my actions—they are not mine alone."

Unhappily, she nodded.

"I understand. I think it's wrong, and that you have more of a choice here than you think you do, but I'll try not to be difficult. Now," she rallied, gesturing brusquely at his wound. "Let's see how things are going and try out that Savage Lander salve. Who knows," she said teasingly, "If it kills you we might even have an excuse to execute the little rat."

"A comforting thought," said Kaldur dryly, settling back against the cushions on which he was propped up. Before Raquel could ask, he turned his left arm wrist-up and lifted it slightly so that she could begin the process of liberating his shoulder from its bandaging. It was a ritual at this point, one they'd gone through every day for the last three weeks; she confiscated the old wrapping, examined the look and feel of the thick scabbing and the lingering stitches, then applied a touch of salve from her own kit. Today, though, she stopped before it was time to re-wrap the injury, reaching over to take the jar that contained Tricklieon's salve.

"What do you think, your Grace?" she asked, uncorking the thing and running a finger just beneath the rim, testing the texture. "Do we trust the toad enough to give it a try?"

Kaldur frowned. He was torn - on the one hand, he had about as much trust in the newcomer as in Artemis's ability to keep her mouth shut. On the other, he was keen to see his shoulder improve as early as possible. He'd already led from behind for too long. It was his duty to be on the frontlines with those he claimed to protect, not to hide in the relative safety of camp. And his father was expecting him to turn the war around, to live up to the family reputation in combat and in strategy.

"Perhaps I will read the King's words before I make a decision," he said, touching a hand to the vellum that now laid beside him on his cot. "I trust he will have some insight on the matter."

"If you really need instructions from on high about whether or not you should slather potentially poisonous substances on your wounds, then by all means," she replied sarcastically, setting the salve back down on the cot. As Kaldur unrolled the scroll, she busied herself with washing his bandages.

'_My Son,' _it read,_ 'I pray to the gods that this message finds you in good spirits and recovering health. Things in Raya are progressing well- the Northwestern front is but a few well-placed victories from being won entirely, and my generals and I are approaching a consensus on how we want to approach the annexation of Reginia. Your intelligence and observations have been invaluable toward this effort, and I am pleased to announce that many here at court speak highly of you. Though I know your motives for asking for your current command were not the most honest (for let us be truthful, son, I am aware that you chafe at the yoke of the court and its politics. I was much the same, in my youth, and I know that by the end of this war you will have grown to the point where the petty mannerisms and games no longer touch you), but I think that in doing so you have furthered our aspirations for you more than my plans ever could have._

_There is but one task that I wish you to attend to more thoroughly- the assassin, the cowardly Reginian who murdered General Maltus and who attempted to take your own life. Though his efforts will never be enough to keep us from Reginia, I have had intelligence that this battlefield is not the only one he has haunted- whoever he is, he has been a thorn in the side of the Savage Lands for almost three years now. Ending him and his interference in our affairs is now one of your top priorities._

_You are performing well, Kaldur'ahm. Your mother would be proud._

_Your King and Father_

Kaldur frowned deeply as he finished the letter. Lowering it to his lap, he stared down at the words, his father's familiar script and its neat, military margins. Without a doubt the king had written the letter, yet there was something strange about it. Was something wrong, back home? What had led him to send this strange letter with an agent of the Savage Lands, an obvious spy?

"Something wrong, Your Excellency?" Raquel asked, draping his scrubbed bandages over a thin slat of wood to dry. "You look like you've eaten one of those poisonous Reginian toadstools."

"Not eaten," said Kaldur quietly. "Though perhaps seen."

Raquel snorted.

"I'll wrap the shoulder," she said, clearly understanding his meaning – no salve.

With a nod, he held out his arm, attempting a glance down at the thick scab that still marked the area just above his left clavicle. It was not inflamed anymore, the way it had been for nearly a week after he first sustained the injury, but it still hurt (though perhaps not as much as his pride).

Fetching the fresh bandages from her bag, Raquel took a seat at his bedside and began the tedious process of wrapping the wound.

"It's healing well," she remarked lightly. "In a few more weeks it won't be anything but a rugged reminder so you can show all the court ladies how brave you are," she continued, pulling layer after layer of meticulously clean bandage over the wound. She wrapped tightly enough to keep dirt and other bothersome materials out, but loosely enough for the wound to breathe.

At his continued silence, she sighed. In a moment of unusual forwardness, even considering her brash demeanor and the fact that they had gotten quite close over the last three weeks, she cupped his cheek in one firm but gentle hand.

"I know that you were hoping the salve would make this all a thing of the past," she said softly, patting the bandages sympathetically. "But maybe it's a good thing that we can't trust it or he who brought it- magic can't end wars, Your Grace. Maybe it's for the best that it doesn't heal the wounds either."

Kaldur averted his eyes from hers – she was too close, perhaps as much figuratively as she was literally, and he worried she'd detect in his expression all his anxiety about what he had just read.

"Perhaps," he echoed, distracted. "I doubt, though, that our guest will take kindly to our treatment of his gift."

"Well," she said slowly, bringing her palms to rest lightly on his shoulders. "I think I know what we could say to him about that," she said lowly as she shifted to stand squarely before him, expression intent as she held his eyes.

At the questioning quirk of his brow, she continued, breaking into a mischievous grin. "We can tell him to take his horrible little salve and shove it right up his _as_-"

"Thank you for your assistance, Raquel," Kaldur cut in loudly, giving her a disbelieving look even as he bit back a smile – how could she possibly have thought that a good plan? Shaking his head, he lowered his voice to a whisper and held her gaze to show how serious he was being. "Do not make yourself a target. I place too much value on your life to play games with it. I trust you will follow my lead in this regard."

"I live to serve," she said flippantly, rolling her eyes and releasing him as she turned to pack up her herbs and antiseptics. "I'll be sure to send the assassin and the good lieutenant over to you- no doubt your father's news requires you talk over your strategy with them." As she turned to leave, she paused in the doorway.

"I value your life as well," she said softly, looking back at him over her shoulder. "It's not my place to command you, I know, but. Please, try to be safe. I wouldn't all my hard work to come for nothing, and we already know you're more of a target than I'll ever be."

And with that, she was gone, leaving Kaldur to mull over her words and his wounds.

He didn't end up having much time to mull.

"Permission to enter?" Artemis asked as she lifted the tent flap aside to reveal herself and Conner, a scant five minutes after Raquel's departure. "Your healer came by the mess to tell Conner and I that you'd want to see us."

Kaldur opened his mouth to make some kind of flippant remark – "_she was mistaken," _or "_if you have not brought me food, you are not welcome in my tent," _but there was little point lying to them. They needed to make haste to discuss the matter now, while Tricklieon was busy setting up his own camp.

"Yes," he said, sliding his feet over the side of his bed and rising, with some difficulty. "I wondered if the two of you might walk with me."

_Away from this tent, where we are doubtlessly being monitored._

"You going to put a shirt on before we go out, or are we putting on a show to raise morale?" Artemis quipped flippantly, even as Conner was already moving to assist him.

Nodding his thanks as Conner helped him pull the shirt over his head and down his arms in a way that didn't aggravate his wound, Kaldur huffed a breath. How he longed for the days when he did not require assistance for so menial a task!

Shrugging on the mail-lined coat that had to serve as his armor of the time being, Kaldur motioned for the two to follow him out of the tent and tucked into his sleeve the scroll he'd just received.

"What news have you from the King?" Conner asked quietly as they exited the camp, striking out towards the forest.

"I am not certain I can answer," said Kaldur, walking in close step with the two of them so that he could keep his voice down. "I have reason to doubt the trustworthiness of the correspondence I received."

Conner's eyes widened.

"A forgery?" Artemis asked, unfazed, her eyes sifting through the trees as they walked, ever-vigilant.

"If so, an exceptional one," said Kaldur, touching a hand to the scroll. "No, I believe it to be his hand, but the contents were...uncharacteristic. I must consider that my father held back the full truth of his circumstances, for whatever reason."

"How do you know?" asked Conner, frowning. "What did he write?"

"Truly little," said Kaldur. "Praise, mostly, of our progress thus far. An order to rout the individual who attacked us and wounded me."

"That sounds perfectly normal for him," said Artemis. "He's always doted on you. I'm almost surprised he hasn't come to avenge your arm personally - he always did seem the type for vengeance."

"I am not taking this matter lightly," said Kaldur, halting their course - they were far enough from camp now, approaching too far. The woods were full of many things, few of them friendly to invading forces. In the shadow of the trees, he unrolled the scroll and held it before his friends, inviting them to look for themselves. "He used my proper name- Kaldur'ahm, with the Atlantean suffix- and spoke of my mother. I cannot help but think that trouble is brewing at home."

"You think he's in trouble because he mentioned your mother?" Conner questioned as he casually lifted a fallen tree and placed it to obscure their path- a deterrent to any spies that may have followed them.

Artemis rolled her eyes at the feat, used by now to Conner's unusual strength. Motioning to the others to follow, she ascended up into a tree with broad, low-hanging branches- the better to observe if someone had followed them, and to get a view of the river bend without exposing themselves to any Reginian scouts poised along the cliffs, yet still a manageable climb for a man with one arm.

"My father does not speak of her often," Kaldur replied as the three of them alighted on the last of the thick boughs- Artemis above, Kaldur in the middle, and Conner below, according to their weights. "I know almost nothing of her besides her name and the fact that she betrayed him- it is a painful topic for him to discuss. He does not use my full name in any but the most formal of circumstances. _'Ahm_, the Atlantean suffix, means 'of the sea'. She named me thus when I was born, and he thought at first that it was meant to remind her of home. It wasn't until she left that he deduced it was meant to be a reminder to him that his only child was a bastard born of enemy blood."

"A cruel woman," Conner murmured, looking out towards the cliffs. His eyesight was as unusually enhanced as his strength- only his complete lack of natural stealth and patience kept him from being assigned as a member of Artemis's scouting squad, a fact she lamented daily.

"If the estranged husband is to believed," Artemis replied, tone bitter. Though he disliked her questioning the veracity of his father's story, Kaldur allowed the comment to pass. Her own mother had been long maligned by her father, and she had a low opinion in general of men who claimed to have been victimized by their wives.

"The topic at hand is not my mother, nor my father's feelings towards her," he reminded instead, peering down through the trees. He spotted no approaching figures- they were not followed. That or Tricklieon, or whomever of his escort that he sent to spy on them, was good at hiding.

"So, you think something has gone wrong in the capital. What do you want to do about it?" Conner questioned, charging through to the meat of the issue as usual.

"What can we do?" Artemis replied lightly. Her tone was- off, somehow. Looking up through the branches at her, Kaldur saw that her shoulders were tensed, and her eyes were fixed firmly in the distance, back towards the camp. "We have no proof, no real reason to suspect anything besides the fact that Kind Vandal's messenger is a little shit and Kaldur's dad was feeling a little sentimental about his estranged wife," she continued, scorn building in her voice. "Besides," she continued, close to outright scoffing, "It's not as if we can just head back to check up on King David- We have a _mission_. "

"You are correct that we cannot return home on a nigh baseless suspicion," Kaldur said carefully. He was a little baffled, however, by the vehemence of her refusal. She was not usually one to advocate prudence in the face of suspicion. "But it would still be for the best if we kept an eye on our envoy- just in case Savage had ulterior motives for sending him here."

"I'll put one of mine on it," she said tersely. "Let's move on to the problem we can actually solve- how do you plan on luring our Fiend of the Mists out into the open? Or am I going on a bit of a sabbatical?" Her tone evened out as she focused on this new problem, and she sounded almost hopeful at the suggestion that she leave the rest of the force to hunt the Reginian sniper.

Kaldur was silent a moment, pondering the options. For a few days after he'd taken the arrow, there had been reports from other Rayan camps of a lone Reginian agent, a mysterious figure who wreaked havoc in the twilight hours by scaring off cart horses or setting fire to supply wagons, or even shooting down scouts who dared venture too far in advance of their regiments. But there had been no sign of the enemy archer in over a week, now, and there was no word of him (or her, Kaldur mentally acknowledged) in any of the reports from the canyon front either. It seemed their enemy had taken to lying low, or had otherwise disappeared altogether.

Kaldur frowned. How was he to best someone he wasn't even sure remained in the same part of the continent?

"From what intelligence we have gathered," he began slowly, clearly thinking as he went, "I would presume that the Reginian will not allow himself to be drawn into the open, where he would lose the advantage of the forests. If he had any confidence in his ability to fight with honor, he would have faced General Maltus in the light of day, not sunk an arrow in her back while she addressed her troops."

Conner nodded, frowning as he listened.

"We could smoke him out of the wood," Artemis suggested. "Gods know we can't burn the whole thing down when it's always this wet, anyway."

She flicked a branch heavy with dew, watching the water sprinkle down on her friends' heads and smirking at the scowl Conner threw her way.

"No," said Kaldur, shaking his head and giving Artemis a wry, unappreciative look. "He is clearly quite well-acquainted with the terrain. If we drive him from this place, he will only find another from which to torment us. And besides, there is no guarantee he is even nearby. Whatever action we take, it must be of enough significance to attract his attention, even if he is leagues away."

"Let's throw that slithering little viper from the Savage Lands a welcome feast," said Artemis, eyes lighting up. "I guarantee he'll have an arrow through his throat by nightfall."

"I do not doubt it," said Kaldur, looking up at her. "But that is an easy guarantee when you hold the bow."

Artemis made a face at him, her hand instinctively moving to check the crossbow that always hung at her hip. The three were silent a moment, the rustlings of the forest filling their ears, until finally Kaldur spoke again.

"We must advance the camp," he said at last, voice heavy. "Make for the frontlines and make it clear that we intend to proceed as planned, that we do not fear his interference."

Conner and Artemis exchanged a look.

"With all due respect, Commander," Conner said, taking the initiative to speak for both of them, "you're not in any shape to travel, much less lead a charge."

"You can't even wear full mail right now," Artemis said flatly, cutting in. "If this is a plan to turn yourself into a Rayan pincushion, then it's excellent, Your Grace, but otherwise we'll need to keep thinking."

Kaldur frowned deeply, eyes scanning the forest floor below. He couldn't deny that they were right – his full armor placed too much weight on his still-healing shoulder; it would be another week or two before he could even attempt it, and even then, he would have to choose between holding his left blade and wearing mail – doing both would put too much strain on the ripped muscle. Still, he was tired of feeling useless, of sending letters from the rear camp to arrange the frontline troops into formations he ought to be personally leading. It felt inefficient, and worse, it felt cowardly.

"I know you're in a hurry to make your father proud," said Artemis, a hint of something odd in her voice – bitterness? – "but bait is useless without a trap."

"Perhaps if I were to fight with only one of my blades-" he began, but petered off at Conner's incredulous stare.

"Respectfully, You Grace," Conner said slowly, "That is a _terrible_ idea."

"Yeah, Kaldur," Artemis added, lips quirked in amusement as Kaldur's cheeks reddened in embarrassment. "You're awful at defending with one blade. But seriously," she continued, mouth straightening into a firm line. "It'd be more strategically sound to wait a few more weeks until you're combat effective to mobilize. The soldiers look to you to lead them- if you die, there's no way that Conner or I would be able to muster them," Artemis asserted, raising a hand to silence Kaldur when he opened his mouth to protest. "They_ respect_ us now, sure. But we're still _foreigners_\- they'd never follow our orders if you weren't there to sign off on them. We'd have to send back to Raya for a new commander, which would take weeks. And then filling them in on everything you know? The invasion would be set back by two months, at the very least."

Kaldur glanced down at Conner, to see his take on Artemis's assertions. To his complete lack of surprise, the younger man had been nodding along, agreeing with everything Artemis said.

It seemed he was outvoted- and as much as it rankled, Artemis was right. Without his wound healed, trying to advance the lines in order to draw out the Fiend was a folly at best, a suicide mission at worst.

With a sigh, he sagged against the tree, arms crossed. "You speak the truth," he admitted reluctantly to them both. "What then would you have me do?"

"I think the fire idea sounds pretty good," Conner piped up from below.

"And I would consider it, were it not for the fact that this damned place is too damp to light- fire would never take," Kaldur retorted icily.

Suddenly, he was face with Artemis, who had swung upside down on her branch to glare at him reproachfully.

"Stop pouting," she demanded. "We'll figure out a way to draw out the Fiend," she continued, "Maybe we could dress Tricklieon up in your armor, have him parade about in front of the camp for a while on your horse. That'd be sure to draw the assassin's attention, and it'd solve the problem of our little spy," she suggested with a wicked grin.

Below them, Conner guffawed hard enough that he slipped and fell out of the tree. Kaldur snorted, descending carefully to check on his fallen friend. "While a brilliant suggestion," he replied to Artemis as they scaled down, "It would require that I risk the horse."

* * *

By the time night had fallen and the trio had made their way back to the camp they were no closer to a sure plan to lure out the Fiend.

Kaldur sat at the center of the far table in the mess where the camp had congregated to eat, save the guards posted outside and Tricklieon's small entourage, who had deemed the cramped tent with its smoky cookfires "practical" in a tone that made it clear they would be making their meals elsewhere.

But the snub from their new arrivals did not weigh on Kaldur's mind, not like their overall predicament. His father had charged him with securing the mountain front of Reginia. And while to some degree he had come out here not out of zeal for the war cause but out of aversion to palace life, he had always intended to do the job properly. Raya needed to win this war, not just to maintain its reputation as a strong military presence and deter potential invaders, but to secure the unstable northern part of the continent. Reginia, it was rumored, had a ruler who was half-present at best, who denied the mantle of "king" and attempted to pass off the responsibility of leading onto his subjects while he went off on quests of personal interest. It was no wonder their army was ill-armored and cowardly, depending on guerilla tactics and the intervention of craven rogues like the Fiend.

Yes, Raya needed to send a clear message to the Reginians, to conquer decisively yet mercifully, so that when the smoke cleared they could see with unclouded eyes the power and virtue of their new king and rally behind him against the true enemy, Atlantis. Kaldur had memorized the stories his father used to tell him at bedtime, of how Atlantis's false king stole the islands from their ancestors, banishing them to the mainland and destroying any trace of their once-great civilization. He dreamed of the day they landed on those shores once more to take back their birthright. But Reginia had to fall first, and the Savage Lands kept at bay.

And yet here he was, staring into his hundredth bowl of fish soup, one arm just shy of utterly useless at his side, pondering ways to root out a single backwater assassin. A surge of irritation rushed through him and he slammed his flask down with more force than intended, startling a number of officers seated nearby.

"Apologies," he told them, rising from his seat. "It seems appetite has taken its leave. You will excuse me."

As he pushed out of the tent, the moon above – a faint sliver, wreathed in grey clouds – lit the whole camp in a weak, tired glow. It was as though even nature was mocking his inability to carry out his duty to his father, to his country.

His tent was just as he'd left it, which to some degree was surprising. He wouldn't have been shocked if Tricklieon had given himself a tour of it when he'd gone to the woods, but everything seemed to be where he'd left it – bed made, armor polished and resting on a spare sleeping roll, letters from his father in their locked box, and the little jar of salve on top of that.

Kaldur hesitated a moment with the salve, running his fingertips over the smooth glass and activating the overhead witchlight to peer at the strange luminescence of the contents. _Nothing but poison, _Artemis had said, and yet, what did exactly Tricklieon plan to do if he died? How did it play at all to the Savage Lands' advantage to remove him from the picture? Only a mid-sized force remained in camp, a centurion or so. A good enough size for an exploratory force, but not nearly enough to overcome any other Rayan regiment, even if the soldiers consented to fight under a pompous bureaucrat like Tricklieon.

He took a seat on the edge of his bed, eyes still settled on the salve. Was it a risk? Yes, absolutely. But what were the alternatives? Wait until his arm had healed on its own and the summer was inevitably underway, their advantage lost? Leave it to the inexperienced officers on the frontlines to lead a charge, endangering the lives of their soldiers and Raya's chance at victory?

Bringing the jar down level with his left wrist, he twisted the lid off. The smell was pungent, spiced and strong, certainly not anything like the ointments in Raquel's kit.

Kaldur glanced at the front of the tent briefly. Artemis had left at twilight with her squad to scout out the area and confirm that no Reginian forces had discovered them yet; Conner was inevitably eating with the recruits. He had not seen Raquel in the mess, but she would not enter his tent unbidden, and he could easily order her to leave him in peace...

Setting the salve aside, Kaldur began the arduous task of removing his coat. A few bad moves left him grunting in pain, but soon enough he'd managed it, dropping the cumbersome thing onto the ground and moving on to take a fistful of the back of his tunic and pull. With some maneuvering, it soon joined the coat.

The air was cold and damp against his bare chest, but Kaldur's shiver had little to do with the temperature. Holding the jar in his lap, he dipped two fingers into it and hesitated. It was not like him to do something reckless, but there was too much at stake – he was needed whole, not incapacitated. His father would understand. It was a necessary peril.

The first touch of the gel on his wound stung a little bit, but no worse than any of Raquel's treatments had. As he slathered more of it on, the sensation began to move deeper, seeping down into his skin, and with it came a faint, burning pain. By the time he'd rubbed the whole of the little jar on, that sensation had intensified, taking root somewhere deep in the joint and spreading through his whole shoulder more and more rapidly, until he had to press his face down into his bedroll to muffle a hoarse scream of pain, his right hand clutching at his shoulder.

For a moment there was nothing but white fire lancing through his veins. Half-collapsed on his bed, Kaldur felt his body convulse with the sensation, swallowing his own agony, and damned his stupidity – of course it was poison! But it was far too late to take it back.

And then, all of a sudden, there was nothing. The pain vanished as abruptly as it had come, leaving him panting and breathless but certainly still alive.

Experimentally, he attempted to lift his left arm, but with a hiss of pain he discovered it was no different – the scab still taunted him, the wound still whole.

With a disappointed sigh, Kaldur lifted his legs up onto the bed beside him and pressed his face back down into his pillow. Suddenly he felt beyond spent. Too exhausted even to pull the blanket up over him, he shut his eyes and surrendered to the darkness.

* * *

The sun rose slowly over the treetops the next morning, casting the camp in watery light and touching lightly on the cliffs beyond. A breeze blew in off the river, stirring frost-hoary tents and setting the looming forest behind them alive with the sound of whispering leaves. The ever-present mist of the Reginian marshlands surrounded the camp like a great grey sea, making lonely islands of the tents.

Emerging from her own tent for her morning exercises, Artemis shivered as she observed the silent world around her- though it was morning, no birds sang. The forest seemed to press in on the encampment, mud sucking at her boots as she walked out towards the small clearing at camp center. The cliffs, daunting on the clearest and brightest of days, seemed to loom over the encampment. Artemis was reminded, faintly, of a hawk poised over its prey.

Scowling at her own foolishness, she shook herself, shaking out her limbs in preparation for her stretching routine. The cliffs did not_ loom_\- they were rocks, large and annoying but nothing more. She had begun to let their isolation get to her- she was unused to being stuck in one place for so long a time. Even living in the Rayan palace she had had freedom to roam about the large, bustling city so long as she hid her identity. These lonely, forsaken marshes were a no-man's land by comparison.

Shrugging off her misgivings, Artemis focused on her body rather than her anxious mind. She was still sore from her mission the day prior, a long evening of scouting up and down along said "rocks" a few miles to the west of their encampment. She grunted unhappily as she stretched towards the slowly rising sun.

A few minutes in, Conner emerged from his tent behind her. Silently, she pretended not to notice as he attempted to sneak up on her – it was a daily routine of theirs, aimed at improving his lamentable stealth. So far he'd been unable to achieve the task, but he was improving.

She kept her body lax as he came up from behind, moving only a little to shift her feet into a better stance. The moment he touched her shoulder she grabbed him by the wrist with both hands and pulled him over her hip, flipping him none too gently into the mud.

"I hate you," he growled as she grinned down at him. "I hate you. I hate this mud. I hate that, every day for the last_ two weeks_, I have let you fling me _into_ this mud," he grumbled, attempting to swipe his hair out of his eyes and succeeding only in smearing mud on his forehead, to which the hair then stuck. "Have I mentioned that I hate you?"

"Once or twice," she replied glibly, reaching to help pull him out of the muck. With a grunt of effort she managed to pull him to his feet. Upon releasing him she groaned, pain shooting down her arm.

Conner, who by this point was attempting to wipe the mud from his backside, threw her a questioning glance.

"Oh, shut it," she griped as she stretched one arm across her chest, using the other to pull it tight. "Not all of us can just scale cliffsides all day and come out of it feeling fresh as a rose, you little _monkey_."

"You swore you'd never speak of that," Conner hissed, settling into his stance across from her and copying her movements. Though Artemis sincerely doubted he was actually sore from yesterday (or ever, for that matter), it _was _nice to have a stretching partner.

"I swear a lot of things," she scoffed, trading arms. "I tend to keep to very few of them, especially if they require me to resist regaling my poor, cold scouts with tales of the big, strong Knight Conner of Pequenia and his utter terror in the face of small, swinging mammals."

Ignoring his grumbles- '_small mammals that swing from rafters to attack your face, and that __**bite**__'_\- she began to work through a series of basic poses that were more focused on maintaining flexibility and balance than on stretching her sore muscles. Conner copied along, and the two continued uninterrupted for another twenty minutes of peaceful silence.

"Do you think Kaldur is going to be okay?" Conner questioned suddenly as they descended into the mud for a bridge stretch, bracing themselves on hands and feet while arching their spines towards the sky.

"He'll be fine," she said automatically, though in the back of her mind she was worried for Kaldur, too. But the last thing Kaldur needed was for anyone to doubt his leadership, especially if they were going to stay here a few more weeks like she hoped. As much as she despised the marshlands, the downtime that came as a result of being stuck in a ten mile radius of camp would give her time resolve her recent dilemma.

"Prince Kaldur is in charge for a lot of reasons," she continued to Conner, limbs straining to hold the pose. "A lot of them have to do with him being the high-strung progeny of King-Stick-Up-His-Bum, but one of the real ones is that he knows how to be patient."

"He seems pretty ready to go to me," Conner said doubtfully as they clambered to their feet. "I'm actually kind of worried that he's going to do something. Well. Dumb."

"Kaldur's a lot of things," she replied confidently. "But dumb isn't one of them."

* * *

From a distance, pale green eyes watched the two soldiers as strong fingers curled and uncurled around the hilts of twin swords. It was rare to see the two of them interacting so freely – it would be a shame to disrupt such a moment...but patience, it seemed, was generally overrated. Ducking behind the nearby tents, the watcher began the slow, careful process of approaching undetected. Such a task had proven impossible for a man of Conner's bulk and lack of grace, but with luck, and with the distraction of conversation, perhaps...

At last, still undetected and close enough to see the stitching of Artemis's tunic and the scuffs on Conner's favorite boots, the newcomer ripped both blades from their sheaths and lunged toward the assassin with a shout.

* * *

Artemis bent at the waist, Conner mirroring her, and fixed her eyes on the ground before her as she stretched. She continued, "I mean, he can be a little impulsive but-"

"ARRRAGH!"

"What the fuc-" Artemis exclaimed as she turned, flipping her attacker over her shoulder. He landed gracefully opposite of her, two swords raised against herself and Conner.

Kaldur grinned as he settled into a fighting stance, a manic look in his eye.

"What. In all the gods' names. Do you think you're _doing_," Artemis demanded tersely, sliding a knife from its place at her hip to defend herself.

"Attack me," he commanded, showing no sign of discomfort or of fear (which, all in all, made him look decidedly un-Kaldurlike). "I order it. Attack me!"

Conner glanced at her, uncertain. Retrieving her short sword from her hip, she tossed it to him. They really did need to work on his bad habit of leaving his tent unarmed, but that would have to wait until after they restrained their apparently _insane_ commander and got Raquel to put a couple calming potions in him.

"We're not going to attack you, Kaldur," she said slowly as Conner slid into a defensive stance. "You're going to ruin all of Raquel's hard work if you keep prancing around like an idiot- whatever _bit _you on the _**ass**_, we can _talk_ about it."

No one had ever claimed Artemis of the Shadowlands would make a good diplomat.

"Raquel's work is done," Kaldur replied, stepping forward to take a swing at Artemis that she easily dodged. "I gave you an order, soldier, now show me your steel."

"Commander," Conner said uncertainly, locking eyes with Artemis over Kaldur's shoulder in an attempt to coordinate an approach. "Are you feeling alright? Are you...have you eaten something?"

Kaldur turned to face his subordinate, leveling one blade toward him, the other still outstretched toward Artemis.

"I am more than all right," he said, voice laden with some powerful feeling – excitement? "I am better than I have been in too long a while. Now attack me!"

"Raquel's work is done," Artemis murmured to herself, still ignoring his order. What about that phrase set the hairs on the back of her neck on end?

Realization dawned.

"Oh, you fucking_** idiot**_," she seethed. "Conner?"

"Yes?" he answered, sword still at the ready.

"Did you hear our Commander give us a direct order to attack him?" She questioned, palming a throwing knife from her sleeve.

Conner turned to her, baffled. "Um," he hesitated. "Yes?"

Artemis nodded slowly, eyes locked with Kaldur's. "That's good. Listen, you're going to ignore that order, okay?"

Conner nodded.

"And _I_-," she grit between clenched teeth, "- Am going to _beat_ his dumb ass into the ground."

With that she leapt at Kaldur, ducking beneath his initial block to swipe at his chest with her dagger.

Eyes flashing excitedly as Artemis charged him, Kaldur fell a half a step back, her dagger just grazing the surface of his leather chestpiece. Before she could bring it back for another swipe, his left sword flashed up, forcing her to dance nimbly away as it sliced into the space she'd occupied only a split second before. He had fought his friend a good many times, and they both knew who had the advantage where – she would best him at great distance and at no distance at all, but if he could keep her at arm's reach, his height, strength and weapon of choice would give him the edge.

As she ducked his next swing and darted forward once more, he angled his right blade into the trajectory of her knife, blocking the blow and weathering the sparks that flew as the blades collided.

Twisting away, Artemis fell back, ducking and rolling to stay out of Kaldur's reach while she searched for an opening. Feinting to the left, she tried to roll into his instep and was blocked by a lightning quick swipe that caught the fluttering edge of her tunic.

Cursing, Artemis fell back once more before assaulting forward again, this time throwing the small knife towards his face as a distraction. As he ducked and thrust his swords up to block the projectile she rolled through his legs, then stood and stepped into his stance to keep him unbalanced. Quickly, she grabbed him by one arm, trying to get in close behind him to press her dagger to his throat.

Instead he whipped around, using his superior strength to throw her off of him. As he turned, he stomped down hard on her instep to break her stance. Stumbling backwards, she barely managed to duck yet another crossing slash of his swords. Panting heavily and swearing beneath her breath, she switched tactics.

Instead of going in for a direct shot at his throat and midsection like she did with targets, she focused on disarming him. She danced out of his reach, staying just far enough away for him to get a few close swipes. Before he knew it she was flicking knives at his arms, at his hands. The fool had neglected armor and had to dodge or risk getting his hands sliced open.

But instead of backing off, Kaldur just doubled down, blades flicking through the air to intercept the first two knives, which fell to the swampy ground with twin _clangs_. The next shot he missed, and it hissed past, taking a piece of his sleeve with it and narrowly avoiding taking a piece of his forearm, too. He struck the fourth from the air and had just begun to advance on Artemis when a horrified, strangled sound from the camp side of their battleground drew both their attentions.

"Your G – Comm – you royal _imbecile!"_ Raquel spat, looking and sounding absolutely livid. "What do you think you're doing with that arm?!"

As she stormed toward them, her gaze shot to Artemis, whose fifth knife had frozen between her fingers, it seemed.

"And you," Raquel hissed. "What do you think you're doing, engaging him?!"

Artemis smirked at Kaldur, straightening from her stance into a placating pose. _Oh, this is going to be fun, _she thought to herself. Aloud, she said, "Oh, I don't think it's his_ arm_ you should be worried about, Raquel."

Raquel's eyes snapped from Kaldur to Artemis. "And what," she hissed, "Is that supposed to mean?" she questioned, hands lowering threateningly to her medical kit.

Conner, who at this point had been standing to the side of the action looking bemused for quite some time now, seemed to decide that this was the signal to settle in for a bit of entertainment and sat down on a near-by stump.

Upon considering Raquel's livid expression and Kaldur's now-somewhat-guilty one, Artemis elected to join him.

"There is no need for concern," said Kaldur, sounding a hair calmer, though he'd yet to lower either of his swords, almost as though he sensed he'd now need them to defend against a new opponent.

"Is that so?" Raquel asked, looking supremely skeptical as she advanced on her commander.

"Our mistrust in the emissary's potion was unfounded, it seems," said Kaldur. As if to demonstrate, he took a quick step to the side and executed a number of swift, powerful thrusts of his double blades. If his left shoulder hindered him at all, it didn't show. "I feel as strong as I was when we set out, perhaps stronger."

"Fun fact about wasting diseases and infections," Raquel snapped, getting dangerously close to Kaldur, to the point where he was forced to back up against a nearby tent. "They don't exactly show up and shout 'Here I am!' at passing over-worked healers until they're green, oozing, and about to result in an amputation." From Raquel's tone, it sounded to Artemis like the irate woman wouldn't exactly mind relieving Kaldur of one of his limbs at the moment.

"Should we stop them?" Conner asked quietly, leaning closer to Artemis. "I don't really think Healer Ervin is supposed to be menacing the Commander in public."

Artemis snorted. "Hell no," she whispered back. "This is the best entertainment I've had since you fell off that overhang into the swamp last week. And His Grace deserves to suffer a bit, the_ idiot_. Besides," she assured, aware that Conner's concerns were warranted, especially because the kid's own command presence partially hinged on Kaldur's, "It's too early for any of these lazy slugs to be up and about, anyways."

"Truly, the way you engage with your subordinates is...unorthodox," a new voice said, and by the condescension dripping from every syllable, no one was surprised to see Tricklieon watching them from a safe distance with two of his guards – the ground where he stood was ever so slightly drier. But while Raquel, Artemis and Conner had to school the disgust from their faces (with varying degrees of success – Artemis managed, Conner failed, and Raquel barely attempted it), Kaldur immediately straightened out, sheathed his blades, and gave a deferential bow of his head to the newcomer.

"Lord Nighthawk," he greeted. "I would not have expected your presence here at such an hour."

"Well, when I realized that further sleep would not be an option, I thought I would investigate the commotion," the emissary replied. "You seem to have slept well, at least, Your Grace."

"Indeed I have," said Kaldur. "With a great debt of gratitude to you and your miraculous salve."

Tricklieon's lips curled into a satisfied smile as his eyes roved over Kaldur's arm.

"I'm ever so glad it could be of use to you," he said. "And that you chose to trust your father's word over the bitter suspicions of those who couldn't heal you properly to begin with."

At her commander's side, Raquel stiffened, clearly devoting her full energy to keeping her mouth shut. Kaldur touched her arm gently, but said nothing about the obvious attack on her skill, drawing raised eyebrows from both Artemis and Conner.

"Yes, well, you have my sincerest thanks," said Kaldur, bowing his head once again. "And I am certain you will be glad to hear, then, that we shall leave the marsh as soon as possible. Two days ought to be sufficient – we will gather supplies, take stock of the equipment and our own readiness, and make for the frontlines. If we set a rigorous pace we ought to reach the advance guard within a week, perhaps less."

"Kaldur, I'm not sure that – " Artemis began, but he held up his left hand, silencing her.

"We have delayed long enough," he said, tone firm. "We depart in two days. Make your preparations. Artemis, Conner, you will alert the troops and meet me in my tent immediately after to discuss our route through the mountains. You are all dismissed."

Internally seething but unwilling to show insubordination in front of Tricklieon, Artemis turned on her heel and strode towards the tent that housed her squad.

Conner, with a disgruntled glare at Tricklieon (he didn't take kindly to the insult towards Healer Ervin, who had saved many of his soldiers from loss of life and limb in the little combat they'd already seen), headed towards the officer's tent. He'd wake the lieutenants and give them the orders to wake their platoons. They would need an early start if they were going to be able to prepare on Kaldur's short timeline.

Raquel turned to Kaldur. "May I be dismissed to begin preparations, Your Grace?" she said icily. She fisted one hand at her side, the other clutched white-knuckled at her medical kit. Internally, she was thanking every god she knew for her dark skin- any lighter, and that little snake Tricklieon would be able to see the embarrassment on her face as clear as a Rayan morning.

Looking somewhat ashamed (_as he should be_, Raquel though viciously), Kaldur nodded his approval. As she stormed off to her tent, she heard Tricklieon's oily voice begin, "Now, about your officer's meeting- You won't mind if I sit in, will you? It's just that I think your people should, ah, 'get to know me' if I'm to be of use as an advisor during the campaign."

* * *

"The valley would prove easiest for the horses and carts to traverse," Kaldur remarked as he and Conner stood on a high ridge, looking out over the next leg of their journey. The regiment had pressed hard for the last two days, making its way out of the swamp and up into the foothills of the mountains, where the rugged terrain had begun to slow them. Currently, they were taking a midday respite to water the horses, and to allow the troops to rest and eat. "But crossing it will leave us quite vulnerable to attack, particularly from a ranged arsenal."

"Reginians seem to like those," Conner muttered in agreement. They had taken some minor arrow fire from a small band of rogues the night before, though it was unclear if it had been some sort of organized resistance or if a few bandits had simply picked the wrong encampment to harass. None of their number had put up enough of a fight even to consider that the Fiend had been among them, and Kaldur was beginning to get frustrated. If making for the frontlines wasn't enough to draw the assassin's attention, he'd have to try something more audacious, and all his current ideas involved too much risk to the regiment...

"Artemis may have a better idea of what lies in store for us when she returns," said Kaldur, turning away. "The valley is our swiftest route to the towns surrounding the Reginian capital, the mountains the safest. But there is no use debating the matter until we have further information. Let us rejoin the others – you must be hungry, my friend."

"After helping haul that pompous prick's cargo all day? I could eat a horse. Maybe I'll eat one of his. Not like they did much good today anyways," Conner grumbled. One of Tricklieon's horses had sprained an ankle earlier in the day. Conner had ended up helping the other horse to drag the wagon up to the plateau where they'd broken for lunch. It was sweaty and humiliating work, and if Conner had not already disliked the advisor...well, the experience of hauling his luxuries for ten miles certainly had not improved his sour disposition towards the man.

"Save me the haunch and I'll make it look like an accident," piped a voice from behind.

Whirling, the two men were unsurprised to see Artemis emerge from the shadow of a boulder.

"Welcome back," Kaldur greeted warmly as he offered her his canteen. "What news have you?"

Nodding her thanks, she took a few long swallows of the water.

"The good kind, for once," she replied when she finished, handing him back the empty vessel. "I found a cave system that goes straight through the mountains. It leads right out to a forest- if it's anything like the marshlands around here, it'll still be slower going than following the valley straight through to the Reginian capitol, but it's a lot quicker than trekking through the mountains. We're less likely to be whittled down to nothing by snipers in the forest than if we stay out in the open, so my recommendation is that we go for it."

"Excellent," said Kaldur, heartened by the news. He had been loath to choose between delaying their arrival and putting his soldiers at risk – the tunnel route would be an opportune compromise. "How long do you estimate it would take us to reach its entrance, and to traverse it?"

"At this current pace, you'll reach it a little before nightfall," said Artemis, eyeing Conner's canteen – after a moment, he rolled his eyes and passed it over. She continued her report between gulps: "We could set up camp in the mouth of the caves, plenty of space for it there, plus cover from the rocks. As for traversing it...well, barring any further setbacks from our accompanying leeches, we should be able to make it through in a day. There are some places that will be a tight fit for the wagons, but with a little extra muscle from the troops, they should squeeze through."

"Good," Kaldur nodded. "Then let us proceed. We will make an early camp tonight, to rest for the push tomorrow."

"As you command, Commander," responded Artemis, finishing off the last of Conner's water and passing it back. "Now what was that about lunch?"

* * *

"That man's horse is almost as ill-tempered as he is," Raquel commented to Kaldur as she dropped down to join himself, Conner, and Artemis at their fire. The journey to the caves from the ridge had been mercifully uneventful, though Conner had grumbled at having to continue to assist Tricklieon's wagon. Thankfully, the emissary was settled off with his own compatriots for the night, having declared his inability to eat the "fish sludge" the camp cook had concocted for the night.

"We are grateful that you have experience with healing animals," Kaldur commented as Artemis passed the woman a trencher of the thick stew.

"I certainly am," Conner commented, stretching out near the fire. "Another day of that and I was going to 'accidentally' break the whole damn wagon. Let the little snot live like the rest of us."

"Please," Artemis said, "We'd all just end up having to carry bit of his stuff with us on our own horses and wagons. Now, if you were to set the wagon on _fire_-"

The two continued in their banter over the best possible way of destroying Tricklieon's property while Raquel and Kaldur tucked into their food, listening and eating in companionable silence.

Soon enough the raucous pair went off to the cook's table for seconds- Conner ate more than the average soldier on any given day, and both he and Artemis had done more physical exertion that Raquel and Kaldur had, Artemis pushing her scouts hard and fast through and back in the caves, and Conner pulling Tricklieon's heavy wagon.

As their good natured bickering faded, Raquel turned to Kaldur.

"Let me have a look at that arm of yours," she said firmly. "I need to check it for wasting disease and the like."

Rolling his eyes good-naturedly, Kaldur complied. He and Raquel freed him of his mail and then, after Kaldur had tugged his shirt off and over his head, she examined him in the firelight.

"It looks good," she admitted grudgingly, prodding at the scar tissue gently.

"It feels it," said Kaldur, watching her fingertips brush over the thick white line without flinching. The cool night air was pleasant against his bare skin after their long day, though he knew that soon he'd want for his cloak again.

Hesitating, Kaldur diverted his eyes to the fire for a moment, then lifted them back to Raquel.

"I am...sorry that I did not consult you before using the salve, Raquel," he said quietly. "And sorrier still that I did not rebuke Lord Nighthawk's slight. I have never been fond of the political games my father would have me play, but...I wish you to know how much I value you as a member of my corps, and as a friend. I am grateful for all you have done for me."

She smiled gently up at him, laying her warm palm against the scar. "I hate to say it, but I'm sort of grateful for this wound," she said softly. "Without it, I don't think we ever would have gotten to know one another. You'd just be another pompous officer to me, and I'd just be a medic to you," she continued. Her eyes were fixed on Kaldur's chest, but seemed far off and distant. She didn't remove her hand.

Kaldur froze, blinking uncertainly when her hand remained on his person. His eyes flicked to it, then briefly to her face, then quickly back to the fire. He knew his heart had begun to beat slightly faster, and given that her hand was pressed to his bare skin not three inches away, she no doubt knew it, though perhaps she didn't know the reason why.

"Healer Ervin," Kaldur began, clearing his throat uncomfortably. "I...I must ask that you..."

"Hmm?" She looked up from his chest, shaken out of whatever trance she'd been caught in.

She _still _made no move to remove her hand.

"Healer Ervin," he repeated, deciding to grasp the nettle and confront the somewhat…awkward way that Raquel may have taken his words. "I value you very highly as a _friend_, but I am afraid that is the, uh-" he had to pause at her questioning brow. He took a moment to gather his courage, and tentatively removed her hand from his chest, holding it loosely. "Friendship is as far as my feelings extend," he charged on valiantly. The brow rose higher, the arch of it raising into Raquel's hairline. "I do not reciprocate any more, well, _romantic_ feelings you may bear towards me," he finished lamely. "I am sorry."

"Any what now?" she questioned flatly, her other brow shooting up to join its sister.

"I'm aware now that you may have misinterpreted my statement as a romantic declaration," he clarified awkwardly. "It was not one. My apologies."

She froze, and he braced himself for the results of his rejection.

She laughed, first softly and then with rising volume and vigor until she was doubled over, clutching her sides with one hand and half-heartedly muffling the sound with the other.

Kaldur sat back.

"Oh, thank the gods," he blurted as she continued to dissolve into gales of laughter.

"You, you really, you actually think I-" she managed to get out in-between chuckles. "Oh, wow, you think I mean it like, like_ that_?" she managed to exclaim, gasping between heaving breaths. "Oh, Your Grace, you're killing me!"

Ears burning in embarrassment (though he could not place _**why**_, considering her response was more or less what he'd wanted) Kaldur defended, "I am so glad that you appear to be taking the news so well," he grumbled, crossing his arms over his chest protectively.

She paused in her laughter to fix him with a stare. "Don't pout," she said seriously in a disturbing mirror of Artemis, before catching his affronted glare and breaking down into fits of giggles again.

When her laugher at last subsided, she sat up with a sigh. "That was the funniest thing I've heard in years," she said contently, massaging at her no-doubt aching sides and fixing Kaldur with a gentle if teasing smile. "_My apologies_," she mocked, "But as pretty and as _exactly _my type you'd be under different circumstances, your current position just makes any sort of romantic feelings towards you a non-issue, Your Grace."

"My position as a bastard prince hasn't exactly kept many uninterested before," Kaldur replied amusedly.

"Oh, it's not your status that's the problem," she replied, waving the comment off flippantly. "Let's just chalk it up to insurmountable ideological differences and call it a night, okay?"

"As you wish," Kaldur said, unsure what that last comment was supposed to mean, but generally thankful that the encounter had gone as smoothly as it had. He let out a relieved sigh, reaching down to retrieve his tunic from where it lay draped on the log beside him, and began the process of redressing himself.

"Don't think I missed that 'thank the gods' nonsense back there, though," said Raquel. She picked up Kaldur's mail shirt from the ground and passed it over with a small grunt of effort, giving him a careful look. "Were you expecting I'd fly into a spurned rage and claw your wound back open with my bare hands? Or are you being in some other way ridiculous?"

"I – " Kaldur began, taking the mail shirt as an opportunity to evade the topic for one second as he maneuvered it over his head. "Nothing like that, no."

"Then...?" Raquel prompted.

"The company of women does not interest me the way most assume it must," said Kaldur delicately. He fixed his eyes on refastening his belt over his mail, then reached for his cloak, only to find it missing – doubtlessly, Artemis had absconded with it for her own warmth when she'd gone off to get seconds.

"Oh," said Raquel, looking thoughtful, though not at all surprised. "I might've guessed, I suppose."

"It is not something I tend to shout to the heavens," said Kaldur wryly. "So I would be grateful if you did likewise. Artemis's continuing presence here depends on our fathers'...assumptions, and as I would be loath to lose her company, not to mention her steel, I do my best not to contradict them."

"And in turn, I do my best to keep my _actual_ love life both non-committal and unnoticed," Artemis commented as she reappeared, wrapped in Kaldur's cloak and already a third of the way through her second trencher of stew. "Though believe me, the lucky lads and lasses I romance _definitely_ notice," she said smugly as she settled back in by the fire.

"And let me guess," Raquel teased as Conner came up to the fire, settling in between Kaldur and Artemis. "Young Lieutenant Conner here is Kaldur's _real _lover?"

Conner sputtered into his stew, sloshing some of the steaming liquid onto his tunic in affronted surprise. "I like _girls_," he insisted earnestly as he stripped the shirt from his chest, wadding it up in apparent disregard for the cold.

"And I'm sure they like you too, honey," Raquel reassured with an exaggeratedly appreciative look at Conner's bare chest. She and Artemis burst into laughter as the younger man set to sputtering and turning an interesting shade of red.

Smiling softly, Kaldur silently offered thanks to the gods for good companions, and even grudgingly admitted that Raquel was right- he did owe something of a debt to the Fiend of the Mists. If nothing else, the coward had done one good deed- he had, by his arrow, brought Raquel to them as a trusted friend.

* * *

The next day saw Kaldur in a slightly less pleasant mood.

"Keep the mares calm, soldier!" he ordered sternly, shouting from behind the wagon as he and a few others attempted to muscle it out from the narrow passage in which it had gotten stuck. He could hear sounds of distress from the horses who were drawing it, and didn't fancy having them bolt once they'd gotten the damn thing through, particularly not in such cramped quarters. They didn't need anyone getting trampled down here in the dark.

Finally, with a coordinated heave, the four of them managed to get the wheels through and the wagon lurched forward, further into the caves. Falling back, Kaldur sighed, glancing up at the few rays of light slanting through holes higher up in the passage. For the most part, the path had been straightforward, with Artemis leading them through the places easiest for a group with carts and horses to traverse. But this was the third time they'd had to maneuver through an unavoidably tight spot, and he was beginning to worry that they wouldn't get through by nightfall.

"Increase pace," he ordered, moving swiftly back to the head of the pack, where some of the officers were leading the way (behind Artemis's scouting troupe, whose members would reappear sporadically to offer guidance). The command was repeated through the ranks, and as one, the garrison began to press forward more insistently.

"How do you fare, Lord Nighthawk?" Kaldur asked the emissary, who had begun to fall behind the first line of troops. "We will rest for lunch soon. I know you must be unaccustomed to travelling like this."

Mostly, he didn't want to hear him complaining later.

"I'm faring about as well as any air-loving man fares after traveling countless miles in a cramped, damp cave system with a caravan of horses and stinking commonfolk," the man groused, but kept his voice low. "I hope you have the good sense, Commander, to pick the next open area as our resting spot. And, please, if we ever must do this again," he drawled, "Order your soldiers to at least bathe first, hmm?"

"I will keep it under advisement," Kaldur responded politely. Inside, the good will he'd borne the man not four days ago for the sake of the salve he brought with him had begun to wear thin. Gratitude only survived so many snide remarks, insinuations, and backhanded compliments, after all.

"Commander!" a soldier called. "Her Lady Artemis is requesting your presence at the front!"

Glad for the excuse, Kaldur led his horse forward, gratified when soldiers parted to the sides automatically to let him pass. It was comforting to see that their respect for his command had not altogether deteriorated during his prolonged weeks of injury.

"What do you require?" He questioned when he caught up to Artemis.

"Nothing at all," she replied breezily. "I merely wished to save my beloved betrothed from the awful fate of the viper's tongue."

Conner, and several of the more savvy soldiers following behind them, snorted in laughter.

"Best not make our disdain for the good advisor too obvious, dearest," Kaldur whispered. "Lest the men take it as permission to leave him tied and gagged in the caves behind us when I am not watching."

"The silence would be a blessing," Artemis replied wistfully. "But I suppose letting your soldiers kill my countryman and start a war with the Savage Lands would put rather the damper on our marriage," she said just loudly enough that a few of the soldiers behind them were set to snickering.

After about another hour of travel, they at last reached a large, open cave. Kaldur gave the order to rest, and began rummaging in his saddle bag for the cold bread and cheese that would serve as lunch before he tied off his horse with a bag of oats near the water barrels set aside for the animals.

"Are we making the time you had anticipated?" he asked Artemis as he dropped down onto the cave floor beside her, making a backrest of his pack by reclining against it.

"Better than it," Artemis told him, consulting the small, crude map of the cave system she'd carved into a strip of leather with her knife. "I don't doubt that we'll be out under the stars before there are stars to see. In fact, there's an exit not fifteen minutes' walk further in, but I don't think the wagons will fit through it – the surest one is another two or three hours along. But it's perfect for a camp before we make a final push to the front tomorrow."

"Good," Kaldur nodded. "And your squad, are they all present, or are some still ahead?"

"I have two still further in, and two further back," said Artemis. "Ensuring the way is still clear of obstacles and enemies before and behind us, respectively."

"What's he doing?" Conner asked abruptly, standing over them as he stared over at Tricklieon's entourage.

"Who cares?" Artemis asked flatly, casting an uninterested glance over before looking back to her lunch.

Kaldur turned his head slightly, trying to avoid the appearance of staring. The emissary was standing with a hand against the cave wall some twenty feet away, muttering something beneath his breath. It would have been unremarkable, but for the fact that he had willingly come into contact with nature, something they'd yet to see him do.

Before Kaldur could give it further thought, though, there came a distant noise from further into the tunnel – a human noise, perhaps a shout.

Immediately, he rose to his feet, staring into the dim passage.

"One of yours?" he asked Artemis, who had similarly risen.

"Could be," she said, stepping over to retrieve a torch from where it had been wedged into an outcropping. "I'll go investigate."

"Not alone," Kaldur said immediately. "I will accompany you. Healer Ervin – you will come too, in case some harm has come to the good soldier."

For once, Artemis didn't argue, and with Conner (who wasn't about to be left behind) on their heels, they headed toward the noise, their steps quick but not running.

"Lieutenant Kafepat," said Kaldur, making eye contact with one of the more experienced officers as they passed. "We will return shortly. Until then, you have command of the camp. Keep everyone together, and have them ready to move out in twenty minutes."

"Yes, sir," the man nodded, throwing a salute.

"Lets go see if Lewis twisted his ankle again," Raquel sighed, stuffing her unfinished meal into her bag as she followed Kaldur and the rest into the narrow tunnel.

Walking briskly, Artemis took the opportunity away from the rest of the force to ask a question that had been weighing on her mind since last night.

"Healer Raquel?"

"Yes?" the woman replied, picking her way around a precariously sharp looking rock.

"It seems unfair to me that you know all of our tastes, and we've yet to learn yours," Artemis remarked. She was more bored than curious, to be honest. Walking through the caves all day had gone more quickly than she had thought it would, but it had still been slow going and monotonous.

"Try to make a pass are you?" Raquel joked. "Well, I hate to disappoint you, my Lady, but I'm afraid I've only a taste for men."

"My heart will never heal from the slight," Artemis said dramatically, pausing to swoon into Conner's startled arms.

"And neither will your soldier at this rate, if he is indeed injured," Kaldur said mildly.

A few more minutes of brisk walking past with no event, and no injured scout in sight.

"I'm beginning to wonder if we were just hearing things," Artemis said. "The shout didn't sound nearly this far awa- what was that?" she snapped, upon hearing a soft groaning noise above.

There was a loud CRACK, and bits of dust and rock began to rain down on their heads.

"Artemis," Kaldur snapped, a sense of foreboding washing over him. "Lead us to the exit you mentioned, now."

The rumbling continued as they sprinted towards the exit, Artemis leading and Conner flanking behind. A moment later, rubble began to crumble in from above them, and loud crashes resounded from behind and ahead in the tunnels.

"Fuck, fuck, _fuck-_" Artemis exclaimed as the crashes grew closer, seeming to close in on the group from either side. "Where the fuck is that fucking exi- Here, turn off _here_!"

She ducked down into a narrow side passage, the others following quickly. A thrill of fear ran up Kaldur's spine as the crashing grew closer, louder. It sounded as if the whole of the mountain was determined to come down on them, to destroy the invaders that sought to pass through it unscathed.

After a few more brief seconds of terror, a soft light appeared- the exit to the caves was just up ahead. Around them, though, the rocks had begun to fall in earnest, slamming into the ground all around them as they sprinted forward.

The team reached the exit not a moment too soon- as soon as Conner came barreling out, the whole tunnel filled with rubble at their backs. The group ran a few hundred feet further for safety and then collapsed, panting.

"We must regroup," Kaldur said swiftly, gasping for breath but too full of adrenaline even to contemplate staying down. "The troops must be warned that there has been a cave-in, that the way forward is – "

" – they heard it," said Artemis, forcing herself onto her knees. "If we're lucky, only this portion of the tunnel came down. If we're not, it's caused a chain reaction and they're all being crushed to death as we speak."

"Do not even – " Kaldur began, but he was cut off as an arrow whistled out of the sky and buried itself in the ground beside his left hand.

"Fall back!" he ordered, jumping to his feet and rushing forward to defend Raquel, who wore only light mail, like what he had been wearing the night he was struck, nothing that could stop an arrowhead. But even as Artemis and Conner obeyed, rushing for the relatively safety of the rock overhang from which they'd come, Raquel herself rushed forward, toward the edge of the trees from which the arrow had come. "Fall _back!"_

A shrill singing sound announced the arrival of another arrow; this one clipped Kaldur's pauldron.

"Healer Ervin!" he shouted, drawing both blades as he watched her run in entirely the wrong direction. "Raquel! Fall back, or you will be killed!"

At the sound of his voice, she turned, but to his surprise and horror, stopped dead in her tracks, placing her back to their attacker. More chilling still was the expression on her face – her mouth was pressed into a tight line, hands still at her sides, her countenance speaking more of bitterness and regret than of fear.

"Fall back yourself, Prince of Raya," she said, her voice quiet.

Kaldur took a quick step to the side, narrowly avoiding one arrow, then another, the second following the first in rapid succession. Gritting his teeth, he began to step backwards toward the collapsed cave.

"Run," Raquel urged him, giving him a look of confusion and disgust. "Run, you stupid bastard!"

As another arrow followed him down the hill, Kaldur began to piece together something odd – though Raquel had made herself an obvious target, immobile and fully exposed, the enemy was clearly aiming for him alone. Furthermore, he recognized the fletching on the arrows currently raining down on them – red as blood, with jet black arrowheads. The Fiend of the Mists had found them again.

"What is the meaning of this?" he demanded, striking down the next arrow with his blade. His heart had begun to pound even faster, unnerved by his healer's strange behavior.

"The meaning of this is that I'm leaving," Raquel said. "And if you know what's good for you, you'll get behind that_ fucking_ rock and_ let me_."

Kaldur opened his mouth, then shut it, too stunned to speak.

"Kaldur!" Artemis called from behind. "Argue later! You'll get no answers dead!"

"Do what she says, Kaldur," Raquel said softly. Her hand was white-knuckled on her healer's kit which, Kaldur now noticed in a strange moment of razor sharp clarity, was bulging not with the hard shapes of bottles and ointments, but with lumps of what he could only assume was food and clothing. "Part of the deal I made with him was that I'd lead you out here- Don't make his task easier than I've already done," she finished, voice cracking.

"Kaldur, you _ass_\- Conner, _grab_ him," Artemis shouted as another arrow went whizzing by Kaldur's shoulder, just scraping along the plate.

"Raquel," said Kaldur, voice hoarse with disbelief. He barely had the presence of mind to take another step back to keep from taking the next arrow straight to the chest. "Why have you - why would you betray us like this?"

He could hear Conner rushing up behind him, but couldn't bring himself to turn away.

A sick look of pitying disgust twisted her features as she stared him down, stepping back and further away. "My name is Raquel Ervin," she said slowly, as if to an imbecile. "I was born in a small village in Kodata to a midwife and an herbalist six years before your_ father_," she spat the word like it was poison, "burned my home to the ground. His soldiers killed my father. I _wish_ they'd only killed my mother, but that's not what happened." She took a shuddering breath, stepping further away.

Strong arms- _Conner_, Kaldur thought dully- circled his waist and yanked him away towards the outcrop.

"When his army finished watching my village burn," Raquel shouted after him, angry tears streaming down her face, "They gathered up the survivors and gave us a choice- Join King David's auxiliary, serve as his scouts and foot soldiers in Reginia, or_ die_."

"My father is an honorable man," Kaldur protested weakly as Conner dragged him away. "He would never condone-"

"_Fuck_ your condonation," she shouted, making a furious slashing motion across her chest. "_Fuck_ your honorable King, you poor,_ blind __**bastard**_. It doesn't _matter_ whether or not your father knew about it, it doesn't _matter_ if he doesn't like it or condone it- his army _did it_. His captains did it, and do you know what he gave them?" she screamed, voice hoarse with grief. "He gave them a fucking _**medal**_. That's who your father is, Kaldur! That's who you're fighting this war for, that's why you're invading a country that hasn't raised its hand against you or yours.

"You noble, brainwashed fool," she finished softly, barely audible over the rising wind and swish of falling arrows. "You're fighting on the side of monsters and you don't even _know it_."

Scarce were the words out of her mouth when she'd turned and made for the trees, strides long and back straight, though the subtle shaking in her shoulders told a more complicated story. Kaldur stared after her, her words ringing in his ears as Conner dragged him to the rocks and hefted his shield up between them and the trees, from which the arrows had temporarily ceased to come.

It couldn't be true. Kodata had been a tiny nation, barely clinging to its own sovereignty in the face of the Reginian barbarians who constantly raided its farms and mills. Raya had only stepped in to protect it with annexation. It had been an act of mercy, not of conquest – she had to be lying, his father would never...

A sharp crack across the face brought him into the present moment – Artemis had slapped him.

"Kaldur!" she snapped. "The vast expanse of your own mind can wait! We need you _now!"_

"I – " he began, staring off toward the woods.

The Fiend of the Mists – Raquel had been working with him along, telling him of their movements, their secrets. Even her friendship must have been a ploy to work her way into their inner circle. The Fiend had poisoned her against them, turned her misplaced hatred for the acts of a few corrupt soldiers toward the entirety of Raya, convinced her to lead them to this death trap, to abandon them here...

"Find a way back to the others," Kaldur ordered, something empty and wrathful burning in his eyes. His own voice sounded strange to him, as if he was speaking from far away. "Dig them out if you have to. Bring them to the frontlines."

"Kaldur, what are you – "

" – I have business with the man who took our friend, and tried to take my life," he said.

And without another word, he'd thrown himself from the safety of Conner's shield back onto the hillside, and began to charge toward the trees, blood pounding in his ears.

"Can you hear me, Reginian scum?!" he bellowed, blades up and out. Something hot and horrible was roaring in the back of his skull. His mind could hold no thoughts, no reason.

There was only rage, hurt and betrayed and angry and scratching out his insides like a beast trapped in his chest. And all of it was that _craven bastard's_ fault.

"I am coming for you! And I swear on my father's honor, I will not stop until your blood runs down both my blades!"

As if response, another arrow buried itself directly between his feet. The message from the archer was clear- _Try me. _

Peering into the forest trees, Kaldur caught a flash of movement amongst the rustling pines. Sure enough, a man emerged high in the trees, just visible enough for Kaldur to see him but blocked by too many boughs for Artemis to have a prayer's chance of getting a good shot.

The man- and it was a man, tall and sturdy with hair like fire, dressed all in dull reds and browns- gave him a mocking bow with a sweep of his red cloak before flipping his arm out in a universal, if very rude, gesture, and melting seamlessly back into the trees.

With a howl of rage, Kaldur gave chase.


End file.
